


Rewritten, Revised

by UnrealRomance



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I'm still trying to rewrite it out, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Racist Stuff, but there's some stuff in here that is racist that I am trying to work through, graphic descriptions in a blunt manner, just a heads up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 85
Words: 110,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrealRomance/pseuds/UnrealRomance
Summary: I'm still writing Rewritten, nobody panic!This is my Rewritten story, completely rebuilt from the ground up to be totally different. Different events, different words...A modern-girl-in-Thedas story that I've been rewriting and reworking since I first came up with the idea. If you want a story in which the main character changes more than the storyline, but actually the fundamentals of Thedosian society...this is the story for you.





	1. Chapter 1

The darkness fills me from the inside out. It's an extension of myself as _I_ am an extension of  _it_.

All around me, within me, it  _was_  me. It  _is_  me. It  _will be_ me.

I can't think in words, it's more of a...feeling. A feeling that I understand where I am and why I'm there, but not in hard and fast terms. Not with conscious understanding.

It's cool, but not cold. Dark but not like the abyss. It isn't frightening and I don't feel _dead_.

In fact I feel more alive than I ever have in my life. I feel life running through me and everything around me, as if I  _am_  the universe- or part of it anyway.

...

Soon enough, I get...bored.

 _So_ bored I start looking for something within myself that will tell me what there is to do.

 _I know I used to do things, but what?_  My consciousness asks without words, scrambling for meaning and for an answer simultaneously.

Reaching out is more like spreading my brain in every direction and finding still nothing to hold onto. Like the darkness is all there is, all there ever  _was_ …but I can remember other things.

I can remember images and colors that flash across the darkness- I can feel the shape of things with my consciousness and the memory of smells and sounds and tastes that I can no longer comprehend as I am.

I grasp at these memories of things I no longer recall and yank on them until an image is finally solid and surrounds me with color and light.

I am still without any physical presence or real cadence of thought, but I can now see things around me with some degree of concentration applied.

I am in a dark abyss- underwater, it seems. I remember underwater as an image- fish, coral, seaweed…and  _her_ , yes. I know her.

...But I do not know her.

A creature with a voluminous red membrane- an image floats behind this one, of a human girl with red hair…but this one is fully aquatic with gills and everything. She carries the same…meaning. The same resonance. But she is from a world in which her kind exists- and does so not as a fantasy of a pretty girl with fins, but as a sea creature with intelligence glimmering in her dark eyes.

Vaguely human-shaped but stronger and hardier with a dark red membranous hide, rather than anything recognizable as skin or scales. Two legs, fused together into one fin. Everything about the creature screams 'real evolution' rather than anything contrived by men in a boardroom.

That concept eludes me even as I think it- not in words but emotions and impressions that flutter away as soon as I look too closely.

I can see the images in my mind, information simply known. I know why she is making that mournful wailing noise and curling up inside a cave with a small figurine- a toy soldier, in her hands.

Her story will resolve itself, the pictures reveal it to be so.

I feel a flicker at the back of my mind and my attention falls away from the creature, forgetting its existence and instead turning to something new.

I am still nebulous, but I feel…I  _feel_.

There is a delighted little thrill through my being as a man in a pinstriped suit with a bat for a bowtie walks past, dejected and singing a sad song. He is being followed not only by a ghostly dog with a shining red nose, but by a woman who seems to be sewn together from the parts of other women.

The images behind them reveal their own stories converging. They do not need me.

...

Is it important that they need me? Yes, I think that is very important. For some reason, it feels more important than anything else.

So I let go of the skeleton man and his franken-bride and their little ghost dog and I drift toward something, somewhere, somewhen- else.

I am on- it's a ship. Not on the water…in…air…space! I know space.

The encompassing darkness is too close in space, but it's a different kind of darkness filled with possibilities and  _things_. My darkness is nothingness. Complete and total.

Here…here I am…almost present enough to have a physical presence. I can feel a weight to myself, but it is not a physical weight.

There is a man walking past the point where I have affixed myself and my eyes follow him with admiration. I know this one. Dark hair and pointed ears, large black eyes and wearing blue. Meeting a man in a chair- Captain, I know this too. He wears gold.

These colors mean something. They mean…who you are? What you do? Is it the same?

A woman then, tall and beautiful with dark skin and hair- I know her too. She and the other two are standing around, talking about something important. Some kind of problem, something distressing them.

But they look to each other with trust and confusion, not hopeless despair or fear. They have each other, I am not needed.

I _must_ be needed. I need to move on.

And so I do.

Another image settles before my eyes, of colorfully armored people in…machine…cats?

They do not need me, either. I can feel that before the image even fully settles.

So I turn again and there is a palace of roots in a dark forest filled with dark creatures- a man with. Oh. An elf. Yes, this is…magic. Magic is permeating the air and the trees- no. Bad magic. Decay, death, darkness, nothingness.

Am I needed? I could be, I could…do something.

But no, it is unnecessary. The elf with the starlight hair and eyes filled with the sky- there are others and they will be there. I can see all of them. Many, over the course of his life.

Another turn shows me something different- more…what is this? Me-time. What is me-time?

Phones, Televisions- my time, my world. My people. No, I don't want to be here. I don't know why, but I shrink away from the me-place with something like revulsion and fear.

I turn again and feel a spark of something within myself as I step into a new image. A snowy mountaintop populated with many many people marching up the mountain and congregating around…

I feel myself draw closer as I focus in on the small village. I can see the spark- a  _mage,_ mages, magic- they pull me in-

' _They need me._ '

And with that I am a person with a body, falling to the ground and into the snow with impressive clumsiness and a loud  _whump_!

A shriek escapes me  _after_  I hit the ground. Cold, needles- fuck, I'm naked!

Mages are the ones to find me, or I'd probably have been skewered on a Templar sword. Sensing a pulse of magic and coming to investigate, only to find a naked woman shivering in the snow? Yeah, that doesn't scream blood magic to paranoid Templars or anything.

"Oh my," a woman with a green flame spilling over her hand- Veilfire, I'll bet. It throws her pretty, high-cheekboned face into sharp relief. She almost looks skeletal. Too skinny, too pale. "Ren, stay back."

"Why, what is it?" A masculine voice, young and light. "Is that a woman?"

"Ren," she snaps and turns to shove the other mage back. "Stay  _back_."

"Alright!" he snaps and steps backwards until his form melts back into the mostly-dark night. The moons aren't that bright, but they lend _some_  light.

"Hello…" The mage woman kneels next to me and starts unfastening the cloak she's wearing. "Here, hang on- I've got something you can wear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I fixed a lot of the glaring issues I noticed or that were pointed out to me.
> 
> And yes, I realize she's still too awesome, that is still a plot-thing that will eventually come crashing down for a plot-reason.
> 
> Some of the plot points are the same, but I think a lot of things are going to change, here. Not just small things that were mistakes, but things I've figured out could be done better.


	2. Chapter 2

This was never a part of the game.

"The Mages have to stay  _outside_  Haven?" I ask incredulously as I look around at the small, patchwork tents and gross-looking bed rolls they're all apparently sleeping in. They put me in a cot last night, so I must've taken someone else's bed. I feel horrible.

We're out in the middle of a little meadow, just outside Haven- surrounded by trees. It's the morning after they found me in the snow, naked for some gods-damned reason and I'm just now taking it all in.

Threadbare clothing and blankets, dirty beds. But they all look oddly well-groomed for the most part. Dahlia's braid is very well done- like someone else did it for her, so maybe that's just a thing mages do? Grooming each other? It'd make sense.

' _Where did they get my clothes from? Whose clothes am I wearing?_ ' They're a bit threadbare too, so I'm wondering if I took someone's spare outfit for when theirs is worn through- or the one they wear when they're washing theirs.

I feel triply horrible now.

"I suppose it's part of their bargaining position. Come back into the fold so we can take care of you or stay out there exposed to the elements," Dahlia purses her lips and passes me a small metal mug filled with something herbal. "Here, have some tea. It should warm you up from the inside."

"So they just leave you out here, even though you're supposed to be coming to an accord? They just want you to capitulate and shut up," I glance around the camp and wrinkle my nose. "You know what, if you can round up a good handful of people, I think I can help you guys make better shelters." I take the tea because it would be rude to refuse it.

I still feel gross for accepting it from this girl who looks starving and cold.

"Oh it isn't so bad," she says, waving off my offer. "The children are being housed in Haven, it was part of our agreement, so they are warm, at the very least."

I glance around at the older people sitting on logs and conjuring flames with furtive glances around as if afraid someone will see and stop them from warming themselves. Then I look at the younger people using magic a bit more easily but still looking pale, weak and malnourished.

Some of them are sneezing and a few seem to be coughing up blood into handkerchiefs.

"Yeah I don't care if you can  _endure_  it- I care if you want something  _better_." I say, turning back to her. "You wanna rough it, that's your choice, but what about the rest of these mages? I could help them. Are you going to speak for them without asking?"

She flusters a bit, "I…no, of course if the others- of course if you feel you can help, there may be others wiling to do what you ask. But what do you think you can do?"

It's not wrong for them to be comfortable, it isn't  _wrong_  for them to live and thrive. But they've all been taught that it is for so long, that's how they react to offers of help. 'nah, we're fine. It's not as bad as it could be'.

It's so familiar it hurts.

"With you guys?" I grin through my heartache. "A lot."

… … … …

What ensues after being introduced to the other mages is  _hours_  of back-breaking labor- after arguments wherein everyone wanted to weigh in. Which is fine, I mean, some of them have good ideas- but it's mostly just-

'should we?'

'we'll draw attention!'

'why do we even need them?'

'but we're cold!'

People arguing over whether or not the Templars will come over and stop them- the Templars noticing them at all seems to be a really big no-no. But well, that makes sense.

There are enough of them that are so cold they're willing to risk it and even more of them who seem to be of the 'fuck the Templars' variety.

"Alright, lean those planks over this branch and secure it with the ropes!" I point upward and step out of the way as some very long-ass planks of wood are laid up against a tree and an apostate climbs up the trunk to lash the planks to the extremely sturdy branch they're lying on.

Some planks from the other direction are laid in the spaces between the ones on this side. Those get lashed too. People are lashing and nailing wood into place in all the spaces between the planks- then removing the ropes to start again in another spot.

Soon enough, there's a sort of lean-to built with only small gaps at the top of the structure. Those apostates have been handy for this kind of thing. They'd made their own shelters out of branches and leaves and shit, so they were happy to come forward and reassure everyone that the shelters I had in mind would work.

Without them, they might not have even gotten to the point of arguing about whether or not to risk it. They really did not want to listen to anything I had to say at first.

There was a whole back-and-forth about whether I should just be thrown out and taken to Haven.

All the mages are exhausted. Most of them gasping for air, flopped on the ground…only a few who seem just this side of winded.

"Where's the nature and fire mages?" I call out. Truth be told, I'm pretty tired myself. I had to help haul wood all morning, after all.

"Over here!" An older woman with silver hair and a young man with a scarred face walk over. "I am one of two nature mages, the other is in the Temple negotiating with the Divine so you are stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'm assuming this guy is my fire specialist?" I glance at the scarred young man and grin. "I need someone with good control, how good are you?"

"What do you need me to do?" He asks with a direct gaze. Focused.

I smile and gesture at the ground below the lean-to. "Everyone's already swept away the snow, so I just need you to make this ground warm enough to grow something. You'll do the same in the clearing where we took the trees for the planks from. If you could burn away the trunks and roots still left behind over there to make way for seeds, that'd be great."

He nods once, sharply and walks over to the middle of the shelter, kneeling down and pressing his palms to the dirt.

After a few moments, steam starts to escape the dirt and it shifts around a bit. He stands up and steps away from the hissing earth. "You'll want to wait a few minutes for it to cool off naturally."

"When it does, what will I be doing?" The nature mage comes over to stand beside me.

I give her a glance and gesture at the now-viable ground as the fire mage stalks off toward the clearing I directed him to. "Grow a nice, soft layer of moss. Something people can lie on that'll cushion them from the cold hard ground. I'll have them layer all the blankets we can spare over them, but having extra space between the ground and your body can't hurt." I shrug and then point to the 'walls' of our little shelter. "Plus some ivy to fill the gaps in the walls would also be good."

"As you say," she nods regally.

"And in the field, I'm going to go and find some Elfroot for you guys to start growing over there- I dunno how to get the seeds from the plants, so you'll have to do that part." I shrug and take off through the trees away from all the little shelters being built around the edge of the clearing and figure to myself they'll probably have it figured out from there. They can handle this, right?

I have to go see what's happening in Haven. Figure something out.

Do I let the explosion happen or try to prevent it? Do I save the Divine or does she have to die to let everything happen the way it does? What can I even do, really…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and I just thought of this. Any of you guys who want the original version of this story, the very first version and you have a ff.net or tumblr account-- send me your email through ff or tumblr and I'll email you the original.


	3. Chapter 3

Haven is a mess of refugees, Templars and Clergy.

First walking through the doors to survey the situation- I spot three immediate problems.

The most problematic problem? The way the mage healers were treating the wounded as well as the surgeons and non-magic healers of other kinds.

I saw a mage healing a small cut on someone's face, a surgeon trying to stitch up a gaping stomach injury on a soldier and someone putting leeches on an already pale-as-fuck woman.

The second biggest problem is the kids- who are being tended to by a mean woman with an angry face and an even worse attitude. She shouts at them to stop making noise even when they're mostly quiet in the little cabin where they're being kept. Muttering to herself about brats and ungratefulness and other things that make my teeth grind.

The third problem is the Clergy. And I can't even  _believe_  the Divine isn't reigning in these assholes.

"Magic is meant to serve man, not rule over him." One of the higher-ranked mothers is preaching near the Chantry, out where everyone can hear her. "The mages  _must_  return to the Circles, for  _all_  our sakes!"

Of course, me and my smart mouth has to walk over and say, "but I'm confused, Mother."

She spreads her hands and turns to me, "what is it that confuses you, child?"

"Aren't mages 'men' too?" I ask.

She takes this in stride, "well of course. But as everyone can see from Tevinter and their mage-kings-"

"Archons," I respond. Smiling when she searches my face with her eyes. "I've studied a bit about a bunch of places. And if you're going to decry something as evil, you should probably at least know the proper terms for things, don't you think?"

She inclines her head, "thank you for informing me…but as I was saying: Tevinter is what mage power looks like, unrestrained."

"I actually think it's what unrestrained privilege and  _eugenics_  looks like," I respond.

We're both talking loud enough for the people around to hear, and I think she knows now what I'm doing.

"I do not know this word," she responds with narrowed eyes.

"Eugenics?" I lift my brows. "Basically selective breeding. Weeding out undesirable traits, fostering the favored ones…imprisoning, abusing and killing people who don't fit with their idea of perfection."

There's a tense silence between she and I as we stare each other down. Other mothers have begun to notice the situation and flock around her.

She sees them and lifts her chin a little higher, staring down her nose at me. "So you agree that Tevinter is simply terrible, then. Whatever you call it-"

"I wasn't only describing Tevinter, but yes. Tevinter is just awful," I cross my arms and tilt my head at her. "Tevinter is more open and honest about the things they do, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen elsewhere. After all, many families in Ferelden marry their kids off to the people with the best lineage, do they not? And then there are the cities across all the countries with the Alienages in them…"

The mothers are looking to the higher ranked- I think she's a  _Revered_  mother? She's just staring at me, with her face beginning to turn sour.

I hum quietly as if in thought. "There was one more…what am I forgetting...? Oh…yes." I smile, but it's more a show of teeth than anything. "The Circles tend to throw a fit when a mage gets pregnant, don't they? Even while the Templars are  _raping_  the female mages, they're blamed for 'passing on the curse' of magic."

"How dare you!" One of the Sisters spits at me.

"How dare I…?" I lead her on with a lifted brow. "What exactly are you taking offense to?"

She splutters and flushes deep red but can't seem to find the words.

"You impugn the honor of our venerated Templar order!" Another of the sisters stomps her foot like a two year old throwing a tantrum.

I glance down at her foot and back up at her face to be sure she can see what my opinion of that attitude is, "your venerated Templars? Oh, you mean like him?" I turn and point off to the side of the little congregation at a man in Templar armor, drinking from a tankard and loudly harassing the servants scurrying around. "Templars are just a bunch of entitled brats in armor." I say off-handedly as I turn to walk away. "Stop spewing your hate-mongering in the streets, Sisters. It does Andraste no credit to be represented by Slaver-apologists."

There's a lot of noise as I go, arguments and shouted insults- and the people around give me wary looks. Anyone who can piss off their Chantry officials enough to lose their cool is probably going to look suspicious to the townsfolk.

I smile sunnily at anyone giving me weird looks and delight a little bit in the uncomfortable grimaces as they look away.

So it looks like I've already got a hell of a lot of work I  _could_  be doing…but should I?

I'm always at my best when I'm making myself useful to people around me. What can I do?

Well…just looking around?

"Hey you, what the hell are you doing?" I walk over to the woman with leeches now attached to her arms and legs.

The leech-man looks up, beardy and grim-faced. "She has too much blood, her body is out of balance."

"Oh for fuck's sake, you're gonna kill her." I snap and kneel down to start removing the leeches. "Ma'am, what are your symptoms?"

She blinks hazily at me, "I…what?"

"What's hurting, how do you feel?" I ask, ripping the leeches off as carefully as I can and tossing them away.

"You can't just- stop that!" The leech man yells.

He reaches across to try and stop me and I grasp both of his hands, cracking his fingers backwards and snarling at him. "Fuck off, hack!" Not enough to break them, just enough to hurt.

He yelps in pain and stumbles back as I release him, running off screaming for the guards.

"Symptoms," I demand of the woman again as I rip off the leeches and throw them at the nearby fire. I'll have to sweep the rest in there, I can't believe I didn't think of that till now.

"Oh…" she swallows and clears her throat. "I feel weak and dizzy, my gut hurts and everything is very warm and I'm sleepy."

I blink and turn my head, "are you on your monthly?"

She nods sheepishly and her face flushes- but she still looks deathly pale. "I am, yes'm."

"Fucking idiot was just making this worse," I huff and strip off the last few leeches. "Any more on you anywhere I can't see?"

"No." She says and sits up as I guide her back onto her feet. "But what do I do?"

"Eat foods like…" I cast my memory back for iron-rich foods. "Oh! Red meat, poultry…pork, fish, spinach, apricots…peas? Can you get your hand on any of those?"

She blinks and nods, "I could stop buying bread and spend the extra on fish…but that's so expensive…"

"Do they have tomatoes?" I ask.

"Yes'm, that would be much easier to get." She says with some relief. "They grow them all over the Hinterlands."

"Eat a lot of tomatoes then, but you still need to eat at least a little bit of fish, peas or…anything you can get your hands on that I just listed… and keep yourself hydrated. Melt snow to make water, but boil it and then cool it before drinking to get rid of any impurities." And that's when I see the guards coming down into the area, looking for me. "And if you don't mind, don't let that guy treat anyone else- and tell anyone who wants him to help them that leeches often carry a disease that could kill them."

She looks a little green now as I step away from her, "yes'm."

And then I walk away from the triage center and off toward Adan's hut.


	4. Chapter 4

"That's right, like that." Adan has been showing me how to make poultices and potions from Elfroot.

I need a job and this seems like a skill I can develop pretty quickly and then put to use for myself if necessary- plus I'm kind of a medic by Thedas standards. I know how to stitch up wounds- in theory only until this afternoon, when Adan asked me to demonstrate on someone -and I know about mustard poultices and started talking about aromatherapy and Adan just set me to work.

I mean, at first he tried to tell me to go to the Surgeons and help  _them_  out, but after I told him how everyone seemed to be working haphazardly out there- and how I intended to at least mitigate the damage myself by working  _with_  mages instead of just next to them…well, he let me stick around and make myself useful all afternoon, so that's enough for the moment isn't it?

It helped that I found Taigen's notes and delivered them at the beginning of our meeting. He was ecstatic to have _those_.

"How do I apply a poultice? Do I just pour it onto the injury?" He gives me a funny look so I say, "I'm used to using creams and liquids to treat wounds…Elfroot isn't plentiful  _everywhere_ , you know."

"You soak a bandage with it and press the bandage to the wound- then wrap it up." He says, gruffly.

"Ah, that makes sense." I use a cork to stopper the poultice jar, "so do you think you could use me?"

He sighs, "I suppose you can make poultices and potions the same as everyone else…"

"Just to let you know, the guards might be looking for me," I turn my head and smile apologetically at him. "I stopped a charlatan from sickening a woman further with a  _leech_  treatment and also I argued with a Mother to the point she started calling me a blight-forsaken…something. Which is a weird insult really, Blight-forsaken? Meaning the Blight forgot me, and therefore cannot kill me? How is that an insult? Or maybe she said Blight _ed_  and _then_  forsaken…"

Adan shakes his head, "you're trouble, I can smell it. But you're quick at makin' poultices, intelligent and you seem to have common sense. I'll talk to the guards, but you have to stop makin' trouble."

"I don't  _intend_  to make trouble," I respond with a shrug. "I only  _intended_  to stop the Mothers from spewing mage-hate and  _intended_  to keep the leech-man from hurting his patient."

He grumbles a bit under his breath, "just steer clear of the Chantry and any of the non-mage healers, then. I'll be back shortly."

He walks out of the hut and I go back to the process of poultice and potion-making- using his table to chop apart leaves, stalks and roots- putting the leaves and stalks in a separate bucket for tooth polishing and hair products.

When I'm done for the day- six hours later, I take the bucket with me, packed full of the leaves and stalks and take the path out of Haven just before the doors are closed for the night.

Walking through the snow will always be a bitch. It's freezing, the ground is hard and I only have a pair of old, flimsy-ass boots to wear, so I keep stepping on painfully sharp rocks and actually  _feeling_  them…

I take my bucket straight over to Dahlia when I've finally come upon the mage encampment. "Hey Doll, teach me to make something?"

She huffs at me as her face turns pink, "what?" She's so easily flustered.

She gets up from the dinner pot, handing the stirring spoon over to Ren who looks a bit dejected at their quality time being interrupted. Interesting.

"I need to use this Elfroot to make hair oils and tooth polisher- you said you learn to do that stuff in the Circle, right?" Just one more way the Templars and the Chantry profited off the Mages, aside from enchanted items. Free labor and all that. "I want to start selling it and we can use the coin for things we need."

Dahlia sighs and shrugs her shoulders, "no one will buy from a mage."

"That's why  _I'll_  be selling them," at least at first.

She purses her lips and looks down at the bucket, "we'll need more than just Elfroot if we're making anything of quality."

"What else do you think we'd need to make something attractive to the general population of Haven?" I smile at the startled look on her face, "any ideas?"

She bites her lip, "something different. They smell crisp snow and leather and metal oil for blades and things like that, all the time here. So…something flowery or sweet or…"

"We can have Nell sprout up any kind of flower you want, but we'll have to buy seeds first," I comment.

She hums, "then…berries!"

And that's how we ended up spending the rest of the evening, hunting for berries- bringing them back to camp and then storing them away in Dahlia's section of the large tent-house she's taken up residence in. We didn't get quite enough, but it's already sundown, we'll go out for more in the morning.

She throws some kind of spell over it and settles down to explain to me how it works as night approaches and everyone starts heading for their cots and bedrolls.

"So you see, it isn't so much stopping time or anything similar, which is what everyone at first assumes about preservation spells- it simply creates the perfect environment for keeping it as fresh as possible for as long as possible," she explains excitedly with a happy glimmer in her eyes. "The environment is different for everything, too!"

After a while, we have to stop talking or everyone'd get pissy that we're disturbing their rest, which would be understandable, really. But damn, I could learn about magical theory all night long.


	5. Chapter 5

I spent most of this morning with Dahlia, getting buckets of berries, brewing some kind of sludge from them and the Elfroot and making a great big batch of hair oil. Herbal toothpaste includes too many ingredients, and we barely have enough for a half-dozen of the hair oil.

After bottling it all up in six small glass vials that would otherwise house Lyrium or a health potion, I took them into Haven and walked around, looking for the dirtiest, but most well-fed looking people I could find.

I haggled with one of the villagers down from a silver to fifty coppers. We stood there for a good long while until I saw their expression turning triumphant, which meant they were getting me down more than they thought they could- so I said fifty, final offer.

The next five people I sold it to for fifty-five, flat rate.

Dahlia thought I'd only be able to sell them for twenty to thirty copper.

So now I have three hundred and thirty copper pieces. Which I immediately turn around and buy six vials for a copper each with. So three-hundred-twenty-four.

I take the vials back and hand them to Dahlia, "we need to make a batch every day if we can. Do you think it'll be possible?" Then I show her the bag full of coppers and she gapes at me. "What?"

"This…this is three silvers worth of coppers at least! How did you do this?" her eyes sparkle as she picks one of them up to finger the designs on it. "Those vials and the oils in them were only worth about twenty to thirty coppers!"

"You forgot to factor in labor and materials," I say gently. "You're not in the Circle anymore, you can charge a reasonable amount, now."

They usually had the advantage of unpaid labor, so the Chantry could have cheaper prices, which raked in more money on the whole- it's a whole thing.

Her mouth opens and closes, then she purses her lips and her eyes glimmer with tears instead of awe and excitement. "Yes, I can make as much as we need!"

So she took off, leaving me with the copper pieces and declaring that she'd find all the berries and bits of leftover Elfroot she could get her hands on if I'd pretty please buy a couple jars of oil from a merchant in Haven.

They cost about twenty-five coppers each once I've haggled down a bit with the merchant. I'm not great at money, but people? I can tell from their expressions exactly how much I'm pushing my luck. I even manage to avoid them giving me a final offer a few times, leaving them with a sense of triumph and superiority that I can use to my advantage in the future.

I get a good deal on some fish and buy a couple of clean, mostly intact blankets and then rush back to the encampment to help Dahlia and give the fish I bought to one of the few apostates who knows how to prepare fish for cooking.

He seemed so confused about why I was just  _giving_ him fish, I had to actually explain that I wanted him to help me make a stew that everyone could share. We needed more than fish, of course-

Which is how I came upon Arisala.

I ran around Haven, asking about hunters who would be willing to go out and hunt for me if I paid them. I only had enough to really entice Arisala, who is a Vashoth mercenary. A mage, but still a merc and a Kossith- or Qunari as they no doubt call her all the time- so no one's arguing with her over that.

"I have about…a hundred and twenty copper pieces I could pay. What could you get me for that much?" I ask, admiring her snow-white hair with threads of black and beautiful purple-gray eyes.

She hums and takes the copper pieces. "I'll be right back, I'll see how many nugs I can get you."

I grin in response, "thank you! You can find me at the mage camp when you're done."

If she just cheated me, I have a whole camp of mages who could just stand there looking menacing while I got my coin back, so I'm not worried about that. Probably wouldn't be a good idea, with the Templars everywhere, but hell- it's the only comfort I've got that she might not actually do that.

I went back to camp and helped Dahlia prepare more of the stuff for oils, explaining what I'd spent the money on and why. "If we can get more people working on this, we might even be able to sell a batch to a merchant for sale elsewhere, instead of just individual people."

She's almost bouncing with energy, "oh I can't wait to tell Ren! He's always saying we should start making enchanted items to sell or something- REN!"

It takes about twenty minutes for Dahlia to get through her explanation to Ren of what we're doing and why and suddenly he's alight with energy too.

If their hands brush one too many times while they're making the oils, and they flush and smile at each other- I don't mention it.

I'm just here in the corner, fixing up Dahlia's cot and mine with the new blankets and then- I take the blankets outside and toward the frozen lake, calling out to the young man with the burn scar on his face as I go. "Elliot! Help me out?"

He gets up from his bedroll in the adjacent shelter and leaves his whittling behind. "What do you need?"

"Ice melted and heated up enough that I won't freeze myself?" I grin.

He nods and follows me to the ice, kneeling down and melting a perfect circle in it before closing his eyes, settling back on his heels and focusing until the water bubbles.

I shove the blankets down into the water when the bubbling settles and scrub them with my fingers until the water is murky. Then I pull them out and tap Elliot's shoulder so he can stop heating the water, and dry the blankets instead.

Now we have two relatively clean blankets and a way of washing clothes that's effective enough for now.

"Would you mind helping again if I came back here tomorrow with a load?" I ask.

Elliot shrugs, "got nothin' else to do."

Arisala finds me not ten minutes later back at camp as I make note of all the people who need their bed linens and clothes washed the most.

She hands me a brace of three nugs, big fat ones- hell yeah! "thank you so much!" I grin and take them from her. "If I were to give you a vial of hair oil worth fifty-five copper pieces, would you show me how to clean and gut these?"

She tilts her head and ponders that for a moment, "that a price you've confirmed?"

"Sold a half-dozen this morning," I nod.

"Fine then," she settles down in front of the fire with a knife and gestures at me to join her. "Pay attention, I'm only showing you this once for one measly vial."

And so I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double Update! How did you guys like it?


	6. Chapter 6

Arisala taught me a lot about skinning and boning- and then after giving her a couple of coins this morning, silver this time- she brought me back fennecs and taught me to skin  _those_  too. I mean, it's the same, but different.

I'm using the bones to char for charcoal for writing and drawing and using the blood we drained for red paint. The organs are all in jars I've bought for them. Which Dahlia enchanted for preservation. It'll stay good for a few days, which means the Merchant I sold it to will be able to send it down to the Hinterlands and sell it for a semi-fresh price.

There are a lot of people who'd pay good money for animal organs for one reason or another, apparently. Arisala alerted me to that possibility, so I give her a cut of those sales.

We're using all the meat for food, to share with everyone. The fur gets cleaned up and scoured and I manage to to sell it to the tanner for a good price- or at least, Arisala says it was an okay price.

She's taken to following me around, probably figuring I'm going to keep paying her, so why not just stick close to me until I need something else?

All our clothing and bedding are clean, or at least mostly clean- all our hair is neatly done and shining from the oil remnants we've been pouring into a small bucket and sharing with everyone once we've filled up all our vials and there are only dregs left in the pot.

We're all well-fed and we have enough silver to keep paying Arisala to hunt for us, which means more money for paying Arisala next time, because we used every part of the animal we could for some other product.

A couple of apprentices made soap from the fat of the animals and even lard and gelatin after Arisala brought us back a boar two days in a row- which I was able to trade with the cooks in Haven for some flour, a little milk and a small container of sugar. The sugar cost me an extra handful of copper pieces on top of the lard and gelatin.

I finally have enough money and supplies that I could make something that I've been itching to make since I got here.

As soon as I mix the milk, sugar and flour together with a small amount of leftover lard and begin kneading it, I feel  _sooo_  much better.

I'm able to make a whole batch of biscuits by bribing the cooks in Haven to let me use the Oven, but then I'm at a loss for what to put  _on_  them.

Nobody else has my reservations about eating biscuits without butter, honey or fruit jams. They stuff one in their mouths and go on about their day, happy as clams. Dahlia, Ren, Arisala, Elliot, Nell and even Adan. I would've thought  _he'd_  have better taste than that, at least.

So I throw my hands up and shrug, figuring that's the best I can do for now.

And I have something else that needs doing now that I've got everything running smoothly.

"You want what?" the older woman in Chantry garb who's been given the duty of watching over the kids- the horrible harpy -is standing before me and glaring at me with tight lips.

"I'm sure a woman such as yourself has more important things to do than watch a bunch of kids," I appeal to her ego, first. "I'd like to take them off your hands. I love children and…" I affect a pained expression. "I'm barren, you see…"

There is a switch that goes off in her and she's not nice- but she at least doesn't glare as hard as before, "this is my assigned duty. Your assistance would be appreciated."

"But if I were to take them off your hands, you'd be free to tend to the townsfolk and their spiritual needs," I reason. "I can do any job, but only Mothers and Sisters of the Chantry can offer comfort in times of contention and fear."

She purses her lips out and then laughs, "the brats are too much work for me anyway."

And thus I was gifted with the job of looking after fifteen mage children and four orphan non-mage children. They range from four to eleven, I think. Some of them aren't sure how old they are.

Most of them are human, but about six of the mage kids are elves. No Dwarves or Qunari kids, but that makes sense. There aren't much here, after all.

And instead of taking them back into the little lean-to shack that they've been sleeping in-

"It's a house!" a little human girl with blonde hair and pretty green eyes. Her name is Illani, I think. It'll take some time to learn all their names.

"It's a cabin," I correct her with a grin. "But yeah, it's more a house than the last place you were sleeping. Everybody got their blankets?"

Everyone shows me the blankets they have wrapped around them or under their arm and I grimace at them. Dirty, threadbare and thin.

So I sigh and point off toward the bed in the other room. "There's a bed in there that all the littlest kids will sleep in and you bigger guys will have to put the blankets out on the floor to sleep on until I get you some cots. It should only be until tomorrow."

They were  _all_  sleeping on the floor in the hut. On top of very thin leather pads that I lay on the floor for them to layer their blankets on top of. They were all separated by gender and also couldn't cuddle together for warmth in there, and I know because I asked them how they sleep.

Fucking religious adults sexualizing kids, god damn.

I show them all how to curl up under the few blankets they have to conserve heat and bring them all a small bowl of tonight's serving of stew. Can't feed them too much at once, they're all so skinny it'd just make them sick.

And in the morning, I'll start taking the kids out and showing them how to harvest Elfroot. They'll _all_  learn to make potions and poultices and start helping out when they've got nothing else to do. Bored kids find incredibly dangerous things to do.

When they're done for the morning, I'll show them their new cots, clothes and shoes that I plan to buy for them while they're busy.

Then they can play for the rest of the day and I won't have to worry about them getting frostbite on their poor little feet.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ren, get this woman a poultice, apply it for her and then instruct her on the care of her injury, magic isn't necessary for this wound." I walk past Ren as he kneels next to the woman I've just seen to and stop next to Dahlia.

She's magically assessing a man on a cot nearby, his breathing labored. "My magic can't really find anything damaged within him. His lungs…they just don't work the way they're supposed to," she looks up at me with sad eyes.

I snort, "probably asthma, then. Hang on, keep him breathing till I get back."

She and Ren both know CPR now, and they had lots of fun asking me questions about other non-magical remedies. On top of that, they know everything I do about how the body works when it comes to the healing process, fighting off illness and several other small areas that I have knowledge of.

So when I come back with a strong black tea and some boiled ginger, it's to a very attentive pair of mages who are both only too happy to follow my every instruction and wait until our patient is sipping the tea to ask more questions.

In the end, the guy is sent off with the jar of boiled ginger and very detailed instructions written by Dahlia- as I have no idea how to write in Trade- much more cheerful than he was before. I had to learn this young, as asthma runs in my family. Most people grew out of it, but grandma and mom still had inhalers.

He thought this would kill him, and it's amazing to realize that it may still do so if he doesn't keep up with the home remedies, or they end up just not being enough…

Drawback of medieval and otherwise back-in-time settings is that their medicine isn't usually up to the level of the modern world, even with magical healing as part of the equation.

"Lady, lady!" a couple of kids under my charge come running into Haven with nugs in their hands and hold them up to show me in the middle of the healer's area. "We helped hunt nugs!" the girl squeals, showing me her nug which is large and patchy looking.

"Look at mine!" the boy demands, holding up a fatter, cream-colored nug. The hide from that one could be used to make a pretty pair of gloves we could sell for a handful of silvers at  _least_. Too bad that clothing peddler already moved on to the Hinterlands.

"Are you carrying them for Arisala?" I ask with a smile. "That's very nice of you."

Their faces light up and they beam as they nod and start babbling about all the things Arisala has taught them today.

She walks up behind them with rabbits, nugs and other small woodland creatures on a string, slung over her shoulder. She waits patiently until they're done gushing about their day and then hands me her brace of furry creatures for me to count out and inspect.

"You know there are at least four more kids you could have me teaching to hunt already," she says.

"A year or two is a world's difference when you're that young," I respond. "I don't think they're mature enough to understand the complexities of the things I explained to these two before I let them go with you. They don't even know the questions to ask yet."

She shrugs, accepting my answer, "as you like."

"Arisala said we have to exercise before we can have bows!" the girl pouts, "but I want to use a crossbow!"

I laugh, "crossbows still require strength to wield, and a  _lot_  of specialized knowledge." You can just point and shoot one, like a gun- but to reload, repair and maintain them? God, that must be a nightmare.

"I know, but I want one so I can protect the house from demons," she says very seriously. "They won't come after us if they know I have a crossbow."

I chuckle, "demons don't often care what weapons you have, it's better to be beyond their notice than to try and intimidate them. I can tell you all about it when I'm done seeing patients and selling to the merchants today."

The boy with her finally pipes up, though he does so softly now, "I can teach you how to keep demons from taking you in your dreams." He's a mage child, so he's had at least a little training.

"That's a great idea…" I search my memory but can't find his name. "Sorry honey, I'm still learning everyone's names, what's yours again?"

He shyly plays with his nug and bites his lip, "Theo."

"Well, Theo, that's a great idea!" I grin. "Why don't you round up the kids and have a whole class about it? You can ask one of the bigger mages to come help you, I'm sure they'd be happy to. If they don't want to teach the non-mage kids, you can just wait for Miss Dahlia to be done and I'm sure she'd help."

"I would love to!" Dahlia loves children. And after I explained that the four non-mage kids in my group would grow up a lot less hostile toward mages the more time they spent around them, seeing them do magic- she takes every chance she can to play with them and teach them things.

Not that she wouldn't have before, but now she's more motivated.

"Arisala wants to teach us how to cut the nugs open," Theo says with a wrinkled nose. "But I don't want to get my new clothes bloody."

The little girl shakes her head, " _I'll_  cut them  _and_  bleed them and you can just give me the bowls and jars for stuff." And the best part is that it's said with so much long-suffering-nonsense in her tone- I can't help but laugh.

"Alright guys, listen to Arisala and be good," I hand back the furry creatures and grin at the Qunari woman. "Thank you."

She shrugs and slings the brace back over her shoulder, "just doin' what you're payin' me for."

True and untrue at once. I smile a bit softer and nod, watching them leave together. The two children chattering with Arisala about how many jars they'll need, what they're supposed to do with the blood…

"They're so taken with hunting, it seems odd." Dahlia says with pursed lips. "Children normally abhor harming animals, don't they?"

"I explained that animals need us to control their population. That it's why we were created, or at least part of it," I shrug and shift around to search the area for more patients. "I promised we could start breeding nugs and fennecs soon, and that we'd be able to keep a breeding pair alive their whole lives if they want to name them and make them pets."

Dahlia laughs bright and open, "I wanted a pet so badly in the Circle…we had a mouser cat or two, but it's not the same as having something that's yours."

"Which is why I was planning to give them all some kind of pet," I say and smile at her surprise. "Pets are good for a lot of things. They help you live longer and in better health than people without pets. I just have to establish a routine for the kids to feed, water and bathe them because  _I'm_  not doing it. So it has to wait for the younger ones till they're old enough to handle it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm ahead enough I can update again in the same day and I want to, so I say to myself, why not?

I needed someone with better distribution and acquisition lines, so I started asking around discreetly about smugglers, though I didn't use precisely that word…

I asked people who seemed to keep to themselves.

And a dwarven woman showed up at the healer's area today.

"Lady?" she asks as she walks up, body clad in leather armor, a pair of wicked daggers on her back. "You're in need of…economic assistance, I've heard?"

I grin and walk away from the healer area with the woman after signaling to Ren to take my patient. It's just a cold and I taught them how to treat that before anything else.

I lead her all the way to the mage's encampment and start talking as we approach, "we're running a pretty good little business for hair oils, paints, charcoal and a few other miscellaneous items. But we need better contacts to buy and sell what we need and I was hoping I would be able to set up some kind of arrangement."

She looks at the way the mages all over camp are attending to their tasks, all the little vials and jars being filled and even a few of the mages painting an old, frayed blanket with some of the new colors we've been able to make with insects and different kinds of flowers. And when she's done looking, she turns to me and holds out a hand for me to shake. "Vriella Cadash, I think we can do business."

So I grin, take her hand and respond, "I certainly hope so." Through a shock of excitement.

The rest of the day was spent organizing all the work stations and setting up an invoice system with Vriella. She's buying everything we can make at the end of the day, taking stock of how much it is and then she's going to distribute it all over the Hinterlands and the lands around.

Since the Mage-Templar war hasn't really escalated yet- right now it's just mages running away and Templars trying to chase them if they haven't gotten the cease-fire order yet, or even after they have- so it's mostly still safe down there.

Everything is going so well with the mages, I can mostly back off and let things happen, except for dealing with Vriella. Overseeing is basically my only job now. Overseeing the mages, overseeing the kids- and there's no greater authority in Haven since it's such a small village. No mayor, no commander in charge of the Scouts and Soldiers stationed here and there- and all the Templars are up in the damn temple or housed in the Chantry.

So no one is even really noticing how I'm improving things for the mages. Everything should keep going well in that area.

But now…I feel disquieted when I walk through Haven, knowing I could do more and being unable to see… _how_ …

And then I walk into the tavern, and see someone pinch Flissa's ass and I start getting ideas.

So I walk over to the bar as she puts a bunch of dirty tankards into a pot full of soapy water behind it.

"What can I get you, love?" she asks distractedly.

"Actually, I want to do something for  _you_ ," I respond.

She looks up and wrinkles her nose, "not interested in any fun, sorry."

I quirk a brow, "I wasn't coming on to you."

She falters as if that possibility hadn't occurred to her. She  _is_  very pretty and works in a tavern. People probably get drunk and hit on her with alarming regularity. "Oh…what are you talking about, then?"

"I've got a bunch of mages who need jobs," those that aren't already engaged in production. "would you like to hire one of them to help you in here? Heating up food, helping you keep that soapy water nice and hot and clean…" I list all the benefits of having a mage around for mundane tasks I can think of, before adding… "and they could double as a bodyguard if any of the men get too handsy."

Her whole expression transforms from conflicted to something openly hopeful and then back to conflicted. "I wouldn't be able to pay them anythin', I don't make much myself and I'm the proprieter o' this place."

"If you give them free ale and food, I'm sure that would be enough," I grin. "Just a tankard or two a day, a bit of food at every mealtime they work through…"

She bites her lip and drums her fingertips on the countertop, "I get Templars in here a lot. It would make a lot of trouble…"

"Not if they kept their magic mostly under wraps. And you can kick out any Templars making trouble, and yes, you  _do_  have that power," I nod at her when she looks skeptical. "I can get you a pair of burly apostates that can pick him up and haul them out  _for_  you. The pair I'm thinking of have been on the run for years and would rather die than do the things to others that have been done to them. So you won't have to worry about them taking advantage of your hospitality."

That's what they call molesting or raping a proprietress of a tavern or other kind of business, I've found. 'Taking advantage of Hospitality'. I don't like it, but Flissa might not like having it thrown around in her face.

She sighs and then crosses her arms and nods. "Fine, but they don't get involved in any arguments or brawls about mage rights. They keep their mouths shut when they work. I don't want any fights startin' here and burnin' down the tavern or gettin' people killed."

"I'll be certain to communicate that to them," I assure her.

And now all that's left is to go and tell the two apostates that I'm thinking of about the job. I'm entirely sure they'll jump at this opportunity, but if they need convincing, I'm prepared to do that.

"For now…how would you like to buy fresh lard and animal fat soap?" at the very least I can open up another avenue for sale of our animal by-products.


	9. Chapter 9

After I found out that the servants all sleep in a group barracks- men and women of human and Elven descent thrown together- I extended an offer to the human women and elves of both genders, the servants most at risk, to sleep in the mage encampment after having a very long argument with the mages therein.

So now not only do we have mages outside Haven, but we've got all the servants except the male human ones...

We put up a few shelters for them to share, just to the side of the main camp for the mages and I was a little surprised at how quick the servants, mostly the women, agreed to come live with us.

Though after shadowing a few of them at their jobs during the day, I finally see why.

Men of all types, shapes and sizes- harass them all day long. Calling out to them, touching them- I almost blow a gasket all over one guy who actually had the nerve to back one of the serving girls against a wall so he could grab at her ass and grope her chest.

She didn't even cry, and that was the worst part. She went blank-eyed and waited for him to stop- seemed utterly shocked when I walked over shouting at the guy for acting so disgraceful so close to a fucking  _Chantry_ , because that's all I've got.

All I can do to make them feel ashamed is point out how close the house of the Maker is, and that doesn't even always work. Which means I'm always going off to find one of my mages at the healer area to come and help me by standing there looking menacing. A mage glowering at you is a lot more terrifying to these people than it is to me.

But then, _I'm_  not buying into anti-mage propoganda.

But all that managed to do is piss off people who were being served and didn't like me disrupting their day and the Templars who noticed I had a mage with me.

And that's what brought about  _this_  situation.

"The Divine has tasked us with taking charge of the mages," the mother- who is indeed a  _revered_  mother, says down her nose at me.

I stopped them before they could just waltz right into the encampment, which is why she's talking to  _me._ Everyone else was too in shock at seeing the mothers and sisters walking into their camp to react in time to keep them out.

After I moved, so did several others, servants and mages alike- taking their cue from me for some reason.

"The mages are under  _their own_  charge, that's the whole point of everything happening here," I respond and cross my arms.

"The Divine discussed everything with the Enchanters in the Temple," she says and then tries to move past me.

I step into her path again and reach out for the hands of the people closest to me. Making an impassable barrier. "Like that means something? You can take your ass back up to the Temple. Dahlia, go see what the Enchanters are doing right now and figure out what's going on." I glance over my shoulder and call out to her with some measure of irritation.

She nods and rushes past me, ducking under the arms of yet another pair of…oh.

It seems they all did as I did and now we're a whole barrier made up of people with linked hands all the way around the mage's main camp. Huh.

"How dare you," the revered mother inclines her head to look down her nose at me further. "We have been given a duty by the Divine. To deny us is to deny the Maker and Andraste themselves!"

I can feel the hand in my left loosen and go slack, so I know that's getting to some people.

"Andraste freed slaves and fought in a war to protect her people," I respond. "She'd be ashamed of you for trying to stop the mages from achieving independence."

I feel the hand on my left tighten up and thread their fingers with mine. When I look, it's Elliot.

"Magic must serve man, not rule over him!" the revered mother snaps.

"Nobody here wants to  _rule_  anything. Half the mages I've been interacting with here would prefer to work quietly for the rest of their lives in a bakery or as a tailor or something," I reply with some dry irritation. "Mages being equal threatens you not because you think they'll turn evil but because you'll no longer be able to profit off of them anymore."

She and the others draw themselves up and…

Well, the next hour and a half is spent like this. Back and forth, over and over until I'm just about ready to tear my hair out.

"We have the divine  _right-_ " the revered mother is shouting at this point.

I cut her off with, " _no one has a divine right but the divine_! And I'm not talking the Divine, the lady in the fancy hat, the divine as in  _divine powers_  as in the  _Maker._ " Mentioning other gods right now would just derail the whole argument and end up frustrating me worse.

"My Lady!" Dahlia comes running from the road to Haven, stopping before the line of locked hands and gasping for air. "You're needed at the…the Temple!"

That's…surprising. Why would they want to talk to me? "What?"

"The Divine wishes to speak with you," she says with wide eyes.

There's something triumphant in the revered mother's expression that melts away when I call for Arisala to take my place.

"I'll be sure to pay you when I get back," I say as I shift out of place and allow her to take my spot in the chain. "Everyone stay where you are, don't let these sisters and their  _mother_  bully you. I  _will_  figure this out."

Even if I'm kind of befuddled as to  _why_  I'm being called to begin with…

Dahlia and I take off down the road and I start barraging her with questions, "what's the situation?"

"The Divine heard about our disruptions in Haven-" she coughs and pauses in the road and I stop to wait for her. "ahem-sorry- she heard about the disruptions and she negotiated an agreement with the Enchanters in the Temple for Chantry oversight- and they agreed. They're afraid our actions might have cost us all."

She looks so sick. Poor Dahlia. "We'll figure it out."


	10. Chapter 10

I dragged Dahlia in with me, of course. Refusing to enter to speak to the Divine without her.

"Your Holiness, she insults you!" one of the sisters sitting inside the room with the Divine says as I enter with her. "She should know better than to walk into the presence of the Most Holy and sully her Divine Light with the evil of magic."

I scoff, "if you'll recall, the Chant of Light speaks only of Maker-given-gifts used against the children of the Maker without provocation as evil, not the gifts themselves. Dahlia has only ever raised her hand in defense of herself and others." That's who Dahlia is, you can just tell by talking to her for an afternoon.

There's an uproar at that, as everyone starts arguing and speaking over each other. I calmly take Dahlia's arm and pull her with me until we're standing directly before Divine Justinia. "Can they leave, do you think?" I shout over the din and repeat myself until she looks like she's finally heard me.

She gestures at one of the guards in the room and they walk over so she can speak directly into their ear- though she's speaking into the side of a helm.

There's another furious uproar as the sisters, mothers and brothers in the room are all rounded up by the guards and marched out in small groups, bit by bit by bit.

And then it's just the Guards, Justinia and us.

Dahlia drops into a bow, but I stay standing very deliberately. "Exactly what are you playing at, sending someone to stop us from protecting the servants from being molested in Haven?"

Justinia looks at me with her pointed gaze, searching my face before replying. "It was my understanding that you were disrupting the duties of many in Haven and creating conflict."

"Yes, I was  _absolutely_  creating conflict," I reply with a furrowed brow. "If someone refused to treat someone with the respect they deserve as a child of the Maker, then you have the right to stand up against them. Is that not also part of the Chant of Light?"

Justinia's eyes sharpen, "what would you have me do to end the unrest in Haven, then?" She regards me with hawk-like intensity, while maintaining a gentle disposition.

Damn she's good.

"I'll tell you, if my friend can put a barrier around us to keep it private between the two of us," I respond.

"Not bloody likely," one of the guards in the room says.

"I'm not a combatant and I have no weapons," I gesture at myself in my peasant-wear and lift a brow at her. "I can have my hands bound if it will make everyone more comfortable, but we must speak alone or not at all."

Justinia inclines her head, "bring a pair of shackles, Brutius."

"Ye can't be serious," in a Starkhaven accent.

"Indeed I can," she replies blithely. "Bring them."

And so my hands are shackled, I sit on the ground before the Divine's seat and Dahlia throws a soundproof barrier around the two of us, herself on the other side. She's too good, that girl. I really hope she's eavesdropping in some way I can't see.

"Speak freely, child." Justinia says, looking down at me with a carefully blank expression.

"Just nod or shake your head, so if anyone is looking at you, they won't be able to read your lips." Her chin inclines in a gesture of acknowledgment.

"We both know the Mages have been mistreated in every possible way there is," I begin. "We know they've been abused and molested and raped, killed and desecrated. Do you agree that this is something that shouldn't go on?"

Her head dips slowly. It could be a nod or simply her dropping her head from its former position. She's  _really_  good.

"We both also agree that nobles, sisters and mothers on the whole can be whiny babies who throw a fit when they don't get their way?" I ask.

There is a flicker in her expression, but her head tilts to the side with a slight incline. I'm going to take that for a nod.

"And we both know the only reason I'm here is because I'm a non-mage among mages, the loudest voice and the only one anyone would actually spend a moment to listen to, even if they do disregard me." I say.

She hums an affirmative, head returning to its original position. Her body language doesn't change from the open, shoulders-back, legs crossed at the ankle pose. Her hands rest delicately on the arms of her seat, like a queen addressing a supplicant.

Or I suppose with my shackles, it would be 'criminal'.

"So let's skip past the parts where I try to convince you to take action against anyone, and right to the part where you do something that no one could possibly argue with without looking like a wrathful sinner."

 _That_  gets a crack in the facade, her lips pulling up at the edges for a moment before settling back into her serene air of detachment. "Go on."

And so I do.

"There is no law in Haven, not really. Guards and Soldiers are just standing around, watching bad things happen because whoever's in charge doesn't actually give a shit about protecting anyone within Haven from other people in Haven. I've even seen and been involved in altercations between a guard and a villager who was only trying to defend himself."

I take a deep breath and shake my head, slowly letting the breath go so my voice doesn't start climbing in volume. "There are men cornering women and groping their bodies as the women lie back and take it because they fear reprisal, or- even worse, because they know no one will care at all."

Her fingertips tighten incrementally on the arms of her seat, but I don't know if it's out of outrage at them or me. I don't think Justinia would just toss off these accusations to make things easier for herself, but who knows. All I know about Justinia comes from the game and wikis.

I lick my lips, "you need someone who will enforce the law of the Maker down to the smallest detail. There's a saying where I come from," I grin. "Do no harm, but take no shit."

There is a startled little twitch in Justinia as her lips curl again. "And what does that mean?"

"Seek only to better your life, not worsen someone else's. When someone seeks to worsen yours, fight back." I reply. "The Canticle of Light is your sacred text, so abide by it. Make them abide by it if they desire to call themselves Chantry officials. Appoint someone to oversee the guardsmen and whatever Templars are here, with the authority to punish them if they themselves fail in their duty and do harm without provocation."

I shrug and sigh, "we both know the mages aren't creating trouble. The Templars are creating as much trouble as they ever have and no one cares. If there are rules set in place and the Mages uphold these rules more than the Templars, it could aid them in their bargaining position here."

Her hands come off of the throne then, and her fingertips tent before her, "I have made my decision."

Well, that sounds ominous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Do No Harm But Take No Shit' is like the wicca/pagan anthem right now. It's my personal philosophy as well as something common to my religious beliefs and the way I've tried to live my life, but had no words that so perfectly encapsulated it until this saying started cropping up.


	11. Chapter 11

I don't know what I did to deserve this.

"This is madness, I refuse to work for this pittance of coin!" a human servant is complaining about the way I cut the humans pay and then added on to the Elven servants pay until it was all equal.

"Then leave," I respond from the front of the Chantry, in my seat. As newly appointed Arbiter of Justice for the village of Haven. "I'm sure there's plenty of elves and dwarves out there who will be happy to take your place."

His face goes ashen, "you can't treat us like this!"

The other human servants agree with a great roar of noise.

I roll my eyes, "guards, escort these men out of the Chantry and Inform the Quartermaster they're all fired."

There's a ruckus and the noise is nearly deafening as they march the humans out of the Chantry in a long, thin line.

I groan and shake my head, "what's next?"

The Revered mother steps up with a sour twist of her lips, reading off her little notepad-thing- like Josephine's but flat and without a candle on top. "The Templars wish to lodge a complaint about how many of them you have taken in for punishment."

"Pff, no." I flick my wrist. "Individuals lodge complaints, not whole organizations. You tell them that their men were taken in for charges of molestation, rape and battery of others. I have first person accounts from multiple sources."

"Mages," she sneers. "Whom have every reason to lie."

"What reasons are those, Mother?" I ask with false innocence.

Her mouth opens and then closes, her face flushing deep red.

If she answers 'because the Templars kept the mages locked up' or even 'because they're paying back the Templars for years of being at their mercy'- no matter what words she uses, it won't paint the Templars in a good light. So she of course goes for the obvious.

"Reasons that escape mere mortals, I am sure!" she snaps. "Magic drives lesser minds mad. Makes them spiteful and sadistic."

"So your answer is: just to be mean," I deadpan. "No, I don't think so. They'll learn to keep their hands to themselves, or they'll deal directly with the Divine and I think we both know how that will end."

After Justinia appointed me, in front of everyone in the Temple, to my great shock and irritation- tricky bitch didn't even _ask_ me- after that…well. She made it very clear that my word was law until such a time as she removed my title.

If something had to come to her, it would mean I was petitioning for the death sentence.

I want to kill them, all of them. All the ones my mages pointed out to be constant torments in the Circles they'd lived in, or ones that had bugged them when they went around the healer area in Haven, doing their jobs.

Not _all_ of them were men menacing mage women but they were in the majority. There _are_ a couple women down there, though.

"Next. Issue." I bite through my teeth.

Her mouth screws up worse in a moue of hatred and anger, but she lifts the pad once again. "The Servants have sent their choice for representative and she wishes to discuss your plans for the…'communal meal'."

"Awesomesauce, send her in." It's the third time we've done this. The first time they sent me an asshole. I said fuck that, let the servants decide who to send through a blind vote. The second time they sent someone who obviously strongarmed everyone into voting for them because they were _also_ an asshole.

So I had the guards watch the voting the third time and told them to vote the person who was looking out for their best interests, not the person who was scariest.

A meek Elven woman walks into the Chantry hall and I can already tell she was probably picked as a joke or to fuck with me. But hell, I was pretty damn sure they were going to go for human all the way and I'd have to settle for one of them, so this plays into my hands in a way they couldn't imagine.

I smile sunnily at her as she approaches, "hello there. And you are?"

She wrings her hands and seems confused by my happiness, "I…T-Tevea, my lady." Heavy Antivan accent.

It reminds me of Josephine- of Zevran…of happiness and light and sweetness with a razor edge.

I smile more softly, "welcome, Tevea. I hope you've had the plans explained to you?"

She swallows harshly and stands a little straighter, "yes. But I do not think we have enough meat, fish and vegetables for what you intend."

I quirk a brow, "Everyone in Haven is supposed to donate an ingredient. If they refuse to, they can just be excluded from the meal." If someone is hanging onto a sack of tomatoes because they don't want to help feed the less fortunate or because they don't like that the mages are involved, they can eat their tomatoes alone in their cabin. "This is a participation event. Everyone who donates, gets a share. Everyone who doesn't, goes on a list of those to refuse a share. If you don't contribute, you don't get to partake. There should be enough for everyone that contributes that way."

People who _can't_ contribute are why we're doing this to begin with, but if you have the means and refuse. Fine. You just don't get to partake of the awesome dinner we're making.

She swallows and nods, "yes, my lady. Should we accept all kinds of food, even those that cannot be added to a stew? There are people attempting to donate loaves of bread and other ingredients unsuited to it."

"Accept all of it, and once there's a full accounting of what we have- I'll help you guys and the mages plan how to make dinner from it." I reply, settling back in my seat. "I want you to go to the Mage camp immediately and inform Arisala that I will pay her to guard you. Don't go anywhere without her. Okay? Don't stop in to the Servants in the kitchens or anywhere else first, go get her."

She bows deeply to me, "yes, Lady Arbiter."


	12. Divine Justinia POV

My new Lady Arbiter of Justice is doing well.

Her duty carried out as she insisted it should be and her manner suggesting this is not how she imagined I would take her suggestion.

But that is what is makes her so _perfect_. A well-spoken woman with soft skin, unblemished by scars- she must be some minor noble's daughter or a scholar of some sort, else she would wear a tapestry of the work upon her skin. Rough patches of flesh on her fingertips, sunburnt skin or some other sign that she is accustomed to hard labor.

Her manner and her words were common, but confident and well communicated.

She made concessions that lost her nothing in order to gain an audience with me. She forsook her pride completely. Or perhaps it is that she does not _have_ any to begin with. Humble, intelligent and willing to stand in the name of righteousness.

She knows a good deal of the Chant, as well- or at the very least the theory of it. Quotes it in paraphrased fragments meant to cut through symbolism to the truth of the canticles themselves.

I do not know her, I do not trust her- but I will give her a chance to prove herself in Haven. My agents will watch her movements, listen to her words and determine the truth of her.

In the short time she has taken over the position, many people have been imprisoned 'neath the Chantry for a long list of crimes ranging from thievery to murder. She has elevated the servants to a position of power, organizing some form of…union, between them.

I was surprised by her choice to cut the pay of human servants in order to make things equal for nonhumans. And again when those servants were fired if they refused to work.

There have been numerous letters from the nonhuman servants to family members in the crossroads and beyond, calling for them to join them in Haven to make up for the number of servants now needed.

In the meantime, the nonhuman servants are keeping up with their workload admirably with the assistance of many mages.

She has also taken steps to intertwine the populations of Haven and the small mage camp in ways that would endear the mages to the villagers. Casting doubt on their long-held beliefs of magic's evil influence.

The mages have been allowed to enchant small items with innocuous spells that create light or heat- to heat the streets of Haven until the snow melted away and even to place runes on buildings to generate heat within them so that the people might sleep in warmth.

Already the Scouts are reporting the villagers doubting the dangers of magic.

How clever of her to know that they would be reluctant to lock away the mages once they have seen how easy their lives could be with magic all around them.

"Your Holiness," one of my Revered mothers addresses me with reverence in her voice but daggers in her eyes. "It would seem that…your Arbiter has taken to banning Templars from the Tavern and Chantry."

"Yes, it would seem she has." I respond with gentle amusement. "Her reasoning, as far as I have heard, is that Templars have no need of contemplation. They have been trained to have faith even in the face of great contention- and that they have no need of ale while they are defending the people." She has transformed the Chantry into a refuge for those who seek to escape the evils of those around them.

It is a horrible thing that it needed to be transformed into such a thing. When that is why it was built to begin with.

"There are _mages_ in the Chantry," the mother emphasizes with pursed lips. "This cannot go on."

"Can it not?" I ask with a gesture. "What is it you will _do_ if it does?"

She hesitates with her mouth open and promptly slams it shut, bowing her head. "I- my apologies, most Holy. I did not intend-"

"Your Holiness, Divine Justinia!" a man calls from beyond the chamber doors. "I would speak with you!"

I gesture at my guards to open the door. Someone calling out from the other side, risking the ire of every Templar and guardsman in the Temple…it must be important.

Or it is an assassin seeking entrance after killing my guards? A pair of closed doors will not stop them for long in that case, regardless.

When the doors open to a man in Grey Warden armor, I stand.

A hush falls over the room as the mothers, brothers and sisters take notice of my form walking toward the doorway.

The man is unremarkable, blonde and bland with long, shaggy hair. Nothing about him would stand out to anyone aside from his armor. Which he has mostly covered with a cloak. Only the front gapes open enough for me to see the griffon emblem on his chest plate.

"Most Holy, we have come to discuss the current situation with you," he speaks with a soft voice. So calm, without urgency.

It disquiets me.

"I would be happy to speak with you," the Hero of Ferelden kept my Leliana safe through the Blight and helped her to avert disaster. Their order has always been respectable, otherwise. I see no reason to refuse. "Everyone, excuse us."

There is no argument now, not as there was when the Lady Arbiter first came to me, in answer to my summons, with a mage in tow. The Grey Wardens are not a political organization, their aims will align with mine. Bringing peace, saving lives.

There are whispers, even as they go- and I know the Grey Warden's visit will be the talk of Haven before long.

It is good that the people will know, they will feel reassured.

But why are they here? This confuses me more than any event that has transpired since I came to Haven. They should not be involving themselves.

I am relieved to know they are, but this smacks of a political gambit of some kind, or a trap…

What would Grey Wardens gain from that? I cannot say. And so I must assume myself overly suspicious.

"Come in, and we shall discuss things," I invite the Warden and turn my back on him to re-approach my seat.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a hard run up to the temple, having to stop running every few feet to skirt between people heading down to the communal dinner together. The 'potluck' I suppose I should tell them to call it. But I want to see what they end up coming up with for names first.

I walk into the temple to see very few Templars and guardsmen left behind to patrol the halls.

They barely take notice of me, even the Templars who sneer at me only do so for a moment before going back to their rounds.

I have no idea if I'm too late or not, but once the mothers in Haven started gossiping about a man in silver and blue armor visiting the Divine- they didn't even fucking know he was a Gray Warden.

There's griffons on their armor for god's sake!

And I guess it's just more fun to speculate if he's a secret lover or some guy with blackmail material. Seriously, that was the debate going on among the Chantry mothers.

There's probably a good explanation why they didn't know who he was. I mean, Wardens aren't seen a lot and the ones who fought in the Fifth Blight prolly didn't wear Warden armor because there was a bounty on their heads… so…

I come to the floor with the Divine's rooms and sigh, leaning against a wall as I hear the booming voice of Corypheus down the hall.

' _What can I do? What_ _ **should**_ _I do?_ ' I question myself…then conclude that standing here won't fix anything and I might miss my cue.

So I bite my lip and move forward.

My legs are shaking, my body is overly warm and my breathing is a bit uneven as I fight off the effects of running all the way here and then up the stairs in stops and starts.

The booming voice gets louder, but still sounds muffled through the walls and…the pair of doors I stop at are locked.

Of course they are.

Arisala and Vriella would be able to manage to unlock the doors with lockpicks. Arisala's a mage but she has a range of skills outside magic. Benefit of being a Vashoth mercenary, I guess.

She could also just blow the doors open, not to mention Dahlia's entropy magic which could just make the door fall apart.

I'm just a fucking non-mage civilian. What can I-

Oh, that's right. I'm not a civilian.

I run back down the hallway and look down the stairs, there's a Templar passing nearby so I shout to him. "Help!" Just loud enough so he'll hear, not loud enough to alert the rest of the Temple, hopefully.

I manage to draw like five Templars to me from that floor, and once they're up on the floor with me, they hear the booming voice when I signal them to shut up and stop asking me what's wrong.

And then all I have to do is watch as they rush for the doors, banging on them and shouting for the Divine.

The doors open, but it's Gray Warden mages on the other side. I can see them come out to engage the Templars as they back away down both sides of the hall.

I hide behind a tapestry about halfway up the hall and wait for the Templars and Mages to pass me, shouting and slinging spells, deflecting with shields and swinging swords- and then I slip out from behind the tapestry and run for the open doors, slamming into a Warden from the side as he sits in the open doorway, taking pot-shots at Templars with a Crossbow.

There's a moment of confusion as we end up in a tangle of limbs and I shove myself back and off him just far enough to avoid the slash of a dagger- I get cut, but not gutted.

And then I grab the crossbow, point it at the Warden as he gets to his feet, and pull the trigger.

We're at point-blank range and I aimed high.

The arrow pierces the beginnings of the mage's barrier and his eye socket.

As he falls, I drop the Crossbow with shaking hands and rush into the room.

Corypheus is chanting and focused on the orb, so I shout for his attention. "Hey _fuckface_!" I've always liked that insult. It's basically just saying 'person with orgasm face'- I mean I know people usually say it to mean 'hey ugly' but 'orgasm face' is the literal translation, so to speak -and I dunno how _that's_ an insult but it amuses me regardless.

The amusement is short-lived, as he turns his attention to me in the next moment.

He snarls, the shards of Red Lyrium in his face glowing bright with rage. " _Kill the interloper!_ "

But of course, the Gray Wardens are occupied with the Templars.

They won't be for very long.

"What's the matter? Can't do your dirty work yourself?" I shout at him as a maelstrom of magic begins to thrum and whip my braided hair around behind me and- oof!

Smack me in the face!

When I've wrangled my braid away, I'm only a few steps away from Corypheus- no, I didn't move. He did.

And I jolt a little bit.

" _Run_!" The Divine shouts and moves, knocking the Orb out of its place with a massive surge of willpower that only lasts a moment- and then she's spread-eagled in the air again, looking like she's in pain.

Corypheus turns, but the Orb is flying straight under his arm in an arc- apparently unable to actually _fall_ until it hits the edge of the magic circle- and falls down toward _me_.

This is the moment.

I could bat the Orb away, which might only end up in getting the Mark anyway. I could step out of the way which might only allow the Orb to be retrieved or broken- which might spell disaster…

Or I could reach out my hand, and let the orb fall into my grip, grasping it tight and gritting my teeth as pain floods my body.

Which is in fact what I'm doing, now. Kneeling on the ground, screaming as light begins to radiate outwards from my position.

I know what this means-

"HELP!" the Divine screams. "TEMPLARS!"

I move toward her as much as I can, but I only take all of two steps before the eruption of power really takes off.

Luckily those two steps moved me into the spell circle- _un_ luckily that's about the time the pain completely takes over my senses.

My only comfort is that everyone's at the potluck. Except for the Templars who are in the Temple. Even the high-ranking mages have drifted down that way…

Or is that a bad thing?


	14. Dahlia POV

"What?" I turn to Ren, raking the few strands of free hair that have escaped my braid out of my face with my fingertips. "What did you say?"

"A mage just showed up at the front gates and handed over his staff to the Templars guarding it. He said he's an expert on the Fade and might be able to help." Ren shakes his head, hair limp with sweat and raked back and over toward the right side of his head. "They were already escorting him in when I ran to come get you."

I curse, "they're not even taking him to the Seeker!" I run through Haven, shouting for someone to take my place as I rush up the steps to the second level of Haven, spotting the back of the procession as they shove and jostle the elven mage between them.

I growl under my breath and rush after them, calling out to them as I climb the steps behind them, within shouting distance- "stop there!"

One of them stops to look back but he just sneers at me and then moves to catch up with the other.

I growl again and run after them until I can grasp the back of the mage's pack- a rather ugly thing made of green fabric- and shove him behind me after yanking him back far enough to put him behind me. "What in Andraste's name do you think you're doing!?"

"Bloody brat-" One of them reaches out toward me and a large, muscular gray hand reaches out to grasp his wrist and squeeze until he grunts and his knees buckle.

Thank the Maker for Arisala.

Isn't she supposed to be guarding Tevea, though? Where is she?

The other has his sword out and I can see Ren on my other side, facing him with furrowed brows, his staff in his hands and glowing with a slight golden aura. He's more a healer than a fighter, but powerful all the same.

Ah, he's so fetching when he's like this.

"It is alright," the mage from behind me grasps my shoulder. "I intended to speak to-"

I whip around and _snarl_ at him, "it is _not_."

He lurches back in surprise and his expression quickly falls into cool detachment. I feel a pang of regret and the need to explain myself. Surely he simply doesn't _know_.

"They weren't taking you to the Seeker, they were taking you to the dungeons under Haven," I inform him. "The Seeker is out with the troops, pushing back the tide of demons."

He dips his head, "I assumed some form of imprisonment would be-"

"Don't you know what that does to the rest of us?" I demand.

"The Lady Arbiter explained it very clearly," Ren speaks lowly from beside me with a calm countenance now. Still not looking away from the Templar with the drawn blade. "If even one Mage acquiesces to this kind of treatment, it will be used against _all_ of us. You don't know, because you weren't _here_ and even we didn't know," he gives me a sideways glance and I find myself looking away with flushed cheeks. "But now that we've got you, we're taking you back to camp to wait for the Seeker."

"And if I disagree?" he asks coolly.

"Then you're putting us in danger and we're within our rights to take you anyway," I reply. "It's your choice, what you _want_ to do. But it's _our_ choice not to let you damage our position, too. We've made so much progress with Haven, I won't let you ruin it. Even if you can help her-" my voice breaks and I clear my throat. "Even if it turns out you _can_ restore the Lady Arbiter, I won't let you undo all of our work, all of _her_ work."

His lips press together and form into a cold smile. "Very well, then. I suppose there is nothing I can do."

"Not without making a scene, anyway," Arisala is grinning with her teeth bared in a menacing way at the Templar on his knees. "You boys should remember that the Lady Arbiter forbid Mage imprisonment unless the Mage has actually committed a crime. And you should also remember that Apostasy isn't a crime in Haven."

The one with the drawn sword snarls and rushes forward, thrusting out his sword with a smite ringing from it toward Arisala as he rushes at Ren.

I move to throw a barrier over Ren but the elven mage has already shifted into place to intercept the Templar before I can.

His staff whirls and knocks away the Templar's blade with a move that looks much like Arisala's regular staff work and then slips inside the Templar's guard to somehow unfasten his shield, and then-

And then the Templar is somehow on the ground with the mage's foot on his chest, his expression still settled into cool detachment. "I wished to acquiesce to imprisonment to prove my good intentions," he turns his head to look at me, then. "How am I to do so, now?"

"They weren't going to believe it till they saw it, anyway." Arisala snorts and shoves the Templar on his knees away with a rough gesture. "Least this way you won't be beaten or worse until the Seeker shows up."

He tilts his head and his lips curl into a smile that looks a bit more genuine than the last, "and if I am not even given the chance?"

"You will be," I declare. "I don't know you but if you say you can help, I'll believe till I see it's a lie." I stare at him for several long moments and then look up toward the Chantry. "We don't have any idea how to do it, so it's you or nothing. We'll do what we have to."

"I see," he responds and steps away from the Templar.

Both of the armored idiots shove themselves to their feet and run off toward the Chantry where they can whine to the Lieutenant, I'm sure. The joke is always on them, Cullen's man is a lot less unreasonable than they always expect him to be.

Still not quite what I'd call reasonable at all, but still…

"Shall we be going, then?" the elven mage asks with a smile that still feels disingenuous.

He smoothly spins his staff into place over his shoulder and slots it into a leather loop that seems to be enchanted to keep it in place. The rest of us just enchant the things to stick to our backs- why the leather strap, I wonder?

I nod and turn to go with Ren and Arisala before me, and the new mage settles at my elbow to walk.

"I'm Dahlia. Dahlia Trevelyan," I inform him. "This is Ren and Arisala Adaar."

"I am Solas," he says, "if there are to be introductions."

His eyes glimmer with something when I glance over at him, something like amusement but a bit colder and harder than it should be.


	15. Solas POV

At first, I was irritated with the mages who interrupted my path to the dungeons.

Then, I pitied them. They were attempting to exert control in a hopeless situation and they saw me as an obstacle to that control. It would be difficult to defeat all three of them without making myself seem more dangerous than I ever intended to.

And so I agreed, and then I disarmed and knocked over a Templar before another mage in the group could use magic and cause more of a panic than we were already likely to do, fighting with Templars in broad daylight.

The Vashoth mage drooped afterwards and the other two had to support her out of the village. I have never been smited, it seems…very unpleasant.

We walked to an encampment filled with mages and non-mages alike, to my great surprise. I was aware of the secondary village of mages, but I was not informed there were non-mages in residence. My agents likely did not know. They cannot sense the touch of magic as I can.

Non-mages of all persuasions seem to be present here. Servants, elders, children…

I was greeted with excitement once Lady Trevelyan introduced me. Excitement and desperation.

My agents were placed only after the Conclave explosion. I have no idea of anything that happened before then, and only a bit of what happened after. I had expected the Orb to destroy Corypheus and assumed anyone caught within the blast radius would be killed by the energy output- but of course his plan was disrupted and now I must scramble to learn things I should have been collecting intel on for weeks before now.

I allowed my surety in the plan I had concocted blind me to other possibilities. I will not make that mistake again.

…though I have made it several times now with the same resolve not to make it again, every time.

The Lady Arbiter of Justice appeared outside Haven two and a half weeks ago. They say 'appeared' as though she was simply birthed by the Fade and I wondered for a moment if they meant she was a spirit made flesh.

But no. That is a ridiculous assumption to make. Mages or no, they would have struck down anything they discerned as originating from the Fade.

She was named the Arbiter by the Divine only a few days before the explosion. After a standoff with Chantry officials. It was an entertaining story to hear.

Many disagreed with her policies on mage and nonhuman rights and are ready to blame her for what happened.

I do regret that she is being blamed for my blunder, if everything they say of her is true.

But it likely is not.

It has been my experience that those believed to be the best of humanity are actually the worst of all. The Humans remember them with distorted images and imagined principles. Whether she was _actually_ in favor of mage and nonhuman rights or if she simply intended to manipulate these people, remains to be seen.

Varric Tethras whistles and attempts to engage me in conversation, "that's a really beat-up staff you've got there."

I sigh and dip my head, closing my book and looking up to engage with him, though I would rather not. "I appreciate your concern. But I do not require clothes, armor or a new staff."

He snorts and shakes his head, "can't even let me beat around the bush a little first, huh?"

"What I have is perfectly serviceable," I respond, mind already back with the book and its immensely inaccurate tables and charts that I am using only to format my own. Using something recognizable to the people here would be less alarming to them if they were to happen to run across my notes.

Though it is all written in Elvhen and they would not understand it in its entirety regardless…

"Serviceable is the word, Chuckles," he deadpans. "I'll never understand why nobody ever wants me to buy them shit. At least…nobody I _like_ anyway," he chuckles to himself.

The opinion of a shade, a shadow of memory does not hold any appeal to me, not truly. He cannot flatter me or ingratiate me, and I believe that is why he is bothering me so often.

Everyone else is simply too easy.

I understand and sympathize, as much as I can. "Why don't you use your connections to get more supplies through to Haven and the Crossroads?" I ask with a raised brow.

"Tried. Too many Templars and Mages going at it," he shrugs. "No one wants to be the one to travel through war country."

I lift both of my brows at that, "do you not know of anyone who could transport goods through the Deep Roads? It is likely the Darkspawn have all fled away from the area of the Breach."

He hums and rubs his shaven chin with his hand. "Now _there's_ an idea…hate the Deep Roads myself but I can probably find someone…"

I watch him go with a sigh as he gets lost in his own thoughts. I cannot usually manipulate people with altruism- it is refreshing. And also…guilt inducing.

' _They aren't real_ , _don't let ghosts sway you from your purpose,_ ' I remind myself and open the book once again.

"Messere Solas?"

Only to be interrupted, again.

I sigh loudly and close the book, looking to Lady Trevelyan as she stands beside me, biting her lip in nervousness.

I make them _all_ nervous.

I affect my pleasant facade, hoping to put her at ease so she will simply say what she needs and leave. "What is it?"

She dips her head and her hands clench in her robes, "you know lots of things, right? Things normal mages don't?"

I almost think I am about to be asked if I do blood magic. I merely tip my head to the side and blink placidly at her, "I suppose you could say that."

"Do you know…anything about spirit healing?" she asks with hesitance.

My expression wavers in surprise, "a great deal." I am not proficient in it…but I know the theory…and I have had practice, healing the Lady Arbiter's wounds. "What is the problem?"

No one could see them, the mages obviously felt it unnecessary or were unable to get to her after she appeared from the Fade rift- and as such her internal injuries were quite serious when I began to examine her.

"I've been studying with one of our healers but…I've hit somewhat of a block," she flushes in embarrassment. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

I grace her with a more genuine smile, "tell me what the problem is and I would be happy to help you."

Her relief is obvious and she begins explaining the process that was taught to her.

I am cringing internally before she is done, "those are very crude methods for interacting with spirits." I tell her.

She huffs, "yes well. When you're locked up in a tower and forbidden from advancing any kind of research, you tend to fall behind in all manner of ways."

I open my mouth and then close it, "I suppose." I hadn't…quite seen it that way before, but yes. I imagine that would…

She smiles tightly, "ignore me. I've only recently begun to embrace my anger at everything the Circle did to me and I'm having trouble…containing it. I _was_ doing well enough…" her lips press together until they turn white. "Then the Lady Arbiter was gone, everyone was blaming us for the Conclave, and then…"

"It is difficult to keep one's head when one is beset by so many contentious obstacles," I reply. "You seem to keep perspective at least. It is more than could be expected of most."

Snappishness is the least of angry reactions she could have to being imprisoned and mistreated her entire life, I am sure.

She sighs and shakes her head. "So…can you show me how to do it once? So that I can teach the others?"

I have always refrained from offering, as people tend to take such things…badly.

But as she is _asking_.

I smile and stand, "I would be happy to."


	16. Varric POV, Solas POV

The Seeker's not doin' a _bad_ job, per se…at makin' friends…

But…

No, she is. It's a bad job.

"If you know as much as you say you do of the Fade, you _should_ have been able to fix her by now!" she snaps at Chuckles. Basically our only hope to fix the little Lady.

Her mage friend is standing back, sighing at her, as usual. Kind of worried, kind of amused.

"I already explained to you that 'fixing' is not the problem," Chuckles says. His expression is calm and his tone is patient but I can see a vein ticking in his temple and his jaw is moving like he's biting down on something every once in a while. "I have 'fixed' the damage that was done to her body by the mark and contained it as much as possible. I have also attempted to find her in the Fade but was unable to breach the…odd bubble…surrounding her dreams."

"Bubble?" she asks, incredulous. "What do you mean, bubble? Do you mean a _barrier_? She is not a mage, how could she erect a barrier in her dreams?"

"I do not believe she erected it and as I said, it is a _bubble_ , not a barrier." Chuckles sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "It redirects, rather than blocks. It is meant to obscure and derail, not stop. If she does not want me to enter, I cannot. And as to how she could erect it…it was likely caused by the mark itself, protecting its host. If not that, it _is_ possible for a non-mage to gain the skills that many mages have in dreams, they simply would not be connected directly to the Fade."

The Seeker makes a disgusted noise, "so what is it we should do, simply wait?"

"Would you rather I experiment with the mark and endanger everyone's lives, Cassandra?" his voice is _ice_ cold. "Is your need for closure _that_ much more important to you than your principles?"

Her expression twists, and for a minute there, I think she's about to hit the guy. But she spins on her heel and marches away, fists clenching and un-clenching as she goes.

Her friend shakes his head at Chuckles and follows the Seeker, placing a hand on her arm she doesn't immediately shake off, which is pretty telling. Funny to see a Seeker playing nice with _any_ mages with her current 'mages are the most likely culprits in this explosion' stance.

"Probably shouldn't outright antagonize the Seeker, Chuckles." I comment as I watch her go.

She came to find us, around the fire next to my tent. Chuckles has to be coaxed away from the mage camp, but I've been able to do it a few times now. Just to talk, him and me. Easier to cut past that veneer, this way. Doesn't always work, but it's easier when we're away from the mages, for some reason.

"She should realize this isn't her area of expertise," he says. Dropping back down onto the log beside me and rubbing his face with his hands. "I am as frustrated as she is. If she continues to hound me, I will be more so. What _use_ is that?"

I hum and tap my chin, "know what you need?"

He gives me a level look, "I will _hope_ you can refrain from being crude and ask, 'what'?"

I snort, "well sure, could probably use that too- but I was thinkin'…"

* * *

 

Solas POV

I suppose there can be small wisdoms hidden in even the most unlikely packages.

I spin my staff and plant the blade in a rage demon, channeling ice through the shaft into the physical form of the corrupted being. I apologize softly to what may once have been a spirit of virtuous intent and twist the blade until the ice in the center of it, is shattered.

Then I spin out of the way of a swipe of claws- a shade attempting to grab hold of me or cut me down.

Regardless of its intentions, it misses. It cannot stumble, but there is a brief interval when it draws back and turns to face me in which I can step close and plant a hand on its hide.

Pulling at the Fade energy within and twisting it, I pull my hand away as I step back out of range of the swiping claws.

It collapses in on itself without much effort.

"A lone mage stands against a horde of demons with a splintered staff in hand, straight-backed and severe," Master Tethras is speaking in that lilting tone of narration again. "His grace and skill makes it all look easy."

I sigh and turn to glance at him, "it was not a horde." It will take more than the opinion of a shadow of a child-of-the-stone to move me.

The People used to write poetry describing my mastery of magic. Granted, they also wrote for the others…but _I_ did not demand it. It meant…so much more, when it was of their own choice. I don't know why they never realized…

He huffs and waves me off, "more than two is usually enough to scare people enough to piss their pants. Normal people'd consider it a horde."

I shake my head but find a small smile curving my lips, "normal people?"

"Eh, don't take it personal. No one I know is normal," he shrugs. "Not even me! Ha." He grins and lifts his crossbow.

I go perfectly still as the bolt sails past my shoulder- then turn to see the wraith that had gotten a bit too close for comfort, dissolve. They normally attack from further away, but with my back turned and my body blocking Master Tethras from sight, I believe it was intending to hit me with a more powerful blast, up close.

"I knew it was there," I tell him as he marches up next to me.

"Yeah, I could tell, your ears flick a little in the direction you're payin' the most attention to." He replies, surprising me.

My ears twitch in self-consciousness.

He barks a laugh and points at me, "the elf used to do that when I mentioned _his_ ears, too. S'that some kind of taboo?"

I snort a bit and shake my head, "I was unaware I had such an obvious…"

"Tell?" he asks with a grin. "By the way, you play Wicked Grace?"

I allow my lips to spread in a slow smile, a warning. "I could learn." Games of chance and strategy have always interested me. I have not had the time to learn much about this world's games…but perhaps I will have time now, in-between my attempts to wake the Lady Arbiter. Purely for curiosity's sake.

"Ahhh, you're a card shark at some kinda game, aren't you?" he surprises me again. His amusement is…well, I would normally feel it in the air, if this were…but it is not.

I can feel my own rise to meet it, but it is not the same. And so I smile, sadly. "Not at any that have existed outside the Fade for many centuries."

He tilts his head, "alright. Teach me one of those and I'll show you Wicked Grace."

We are interrupted by the nearby explosion of green light that heralds another 'horde' of demons.

I smile with anticipation now, "shall we?"

He chuckles.


	17. Solas POV

The Fade near the Breach is empty.

Devoid of spirits altogether- those that venture too close are pulled through, after all.

I have been sending out messages through the Ephemeral green haze that has descended upon this place. It speaks of danger and death rather than fear- which would only draw in harmless spirits meant to absorb the fears of others.

There are no spirits to give me counsel, but I can seek enlightenment on _some_ things.

The Fade will play memories so long as those who remember are connected to it. And the mages outside Haven seem more connected to the Fade than I have felt in anyone since I woke.

One memory is simply of them sitting around the fire, telling stories to each other. Another is of the children playing around their cabin. Yet another is of some sort of…training regime.

All of them have her in them, though she is off to the side, observing, in most.

She watches as they tell their stories, smiling or laughing when appropriate. Eyes misting with tears otherwise. There is something she sees that pulls at the others when they see her this way, though the emotions are confused.

They do not know what she sees and so I cannot draw a conclusion about her feelings. They all _feel_ they know, of course. But nothing about those feelings makes sense in context.

There, a memory where she is small and perceived as harmless and…I suppose the word for it could be 'cute' though I cannot determine why.

Another, where she is perceived to be taller than she is, with eyes that scream rage and vengeance. Her very bearing frightening, but…comforting. As a mabari can be frightening in the moment it attacks your enemies and you are quite glad it is not attacking _you_.

And then there are the…children's memories.

They are, as ever, disjointed and confused as all children's memories are, mages or no…but there are moments that…

Well, if they were more than shadows and pretenders, it would move me.

A moment of remembering a warm embrace. Whispered words of reassurance-

( _There's nothing wrong with being a mage, you're not evil_ )

A story remembered in bits and pieces and images that follow no logical course and seem to jump about without any sort of straightforward continuity.

And then there are the memories from within Haven.

The memory of her pinning a man to the tavern wall with a snarl on her face.

The memory of her tending to an Elven servant whose face is red and swollen from the smack of someone's hand.

The memory of a man taking hold of her arm in the market and her…breaking _his_ arm in retaliation with a quick movement and a decisive shove of her palm into his elbow.

And then the memory of her encouraging a mage to attempt to use force magic to…whip eggs. And the resultant mess that was splattered about everywhere. The servants in the room who waited in shocked silence for a few moments- and then their relief and delight when she simply laughed and began cleaning up the mess.

Such conflicting imagery. It confuses me.

She is at once frightening and gives a feeling of security…and also soft and welcoming, giving a feeling of acceptance and peace.

A memory involving the mages who retrieved me from the Templars interests me and I drift closer.

There is a confused murmur of voices, snatches of conversation- then anger and indignation as someone attempts to disrupt their healing of injured soldiers.

Ah, I recall this.

Just as before, I watch from afar- though now I have not reached for my staff by the time three crossbow bolts bury themselves in the ground before and around the man throwing rocks.

He startles and darts backward, running away from the healing area and Master Tethras puts his crossbow away, walking past the mages with a wink and witty quip.

Lady Trevelyan giggles and the sound is overlaid with the sound of a thousand other giggles of remembered women, laughing in glee. The Elven mage smiles and gives her a conspiratorial look as the Vashoth huffs that she could have handled the situation just fine on her own, thank you.

I've attempted to help the Vashoth, but it seems they are refusing to take my side of the story. I feel regret that she is being punished for my actions- but Cassandra will not release her and does not believe I was able to defeat the Templar, especially on my own.

The image of a harmless mage scholar I've cultivated has worked too well.

It seems he was so embarrassed to be defeated by a small, thin, Elven mage- they insisted that the Vashoth was the one to attack them…

What else can I do but continue tending to the Lady Arbiter and hope that the truth will soon be recognized?

And then the images dull, as this was when I walked away and my own memory of the events is no longer bolstering it.

How dreary and dull everything must seem to them. To have everything so dark and…hazy.

Ah, and there is a memory of the Commander taking one of his men to task, the mages looking on with amusement and something similar to…satisfaction, burning within them. Seeing a Templar disciplined for…I am gathering it is for some manner of a lapse in conduct.

Which could mean anything from forgetting to put his weapons and armor away correctly, to harassing a mage.

Commander Rutherford is…a challenge to classify.

I would have written him off as a mage-hater after seeing some of his more colorful past exploits in a report my agents recited to me…

But I met him just this morning and he smiled and shook my hand. I was…loathe to touch him, but there was no uncomfortable squeezing or threatening smiles.

( _Thank you for coming. Even if…well, even if you can't help. Thank you for trying, truly_ )

That was confusing in a _myriad_ of ways.

I check on the Lady Arbiter's bubble, again. But it has not budged or changed color from the obsidian sheen with red veins that it had before. It looks like a very large…pebble. You only see the way it swirls- when you get close enough to touch.

And it ripples when I do so.

' _Why won't you wake?_ '


	18. Varric POV

"Master Tethras, I need to get to a rift nearby-" Chuckles objects at my insistent tugging of his arm toward the mage camp.

"Just come on, we'll grab something to eat and _then_ go," I say.

"We?" he asks in exasperation. I can tell, even if it's low-key. The guy gets this look on his face that says he is just…done, with your shit.

"Not lettin' ya go alone, Chuckles. It's dangerous out there," I stop to give him a raised eyebrow. "And you haven't eaten since this morning."

His mouth opens and his stomach growls, cutting him off.

Shit, the guy's _blushing_ , ears flicked back, lips pressed together- ha! Didn't think it was _possible_ to embarrass this guy. "Fine. But we must hurry, the Breach has begun to expand more quickly, it is…pulsing faster than before."

"Just a minute, Chuckles, relax." I coax him over to the line that snakes out of the mage camp. "You've been to the communal dinner before, right?"

He shifts next to me, impatient and huffy. "It would be faster to simply buy something from a vendor."

"Yeah but these are actual meals. Cooked- and so _good_ it should be illegal," really damn good. I wonder who came up with these recipes. It's the most interesting food I've ever had and that's even counting how my mother used to whip up old homestyle recipes from Orzammar…

Before the drink took her over.

I shake that thought away and grin at Chuckles, nudging him in the side, "plus, it's a nice change to see folks just sitting around, eating together. Instead of…you know, the usual."

He stops bein' sullen just long enough to quirk a wry smile at me, but then he's back to rocking back and forth on his feet. "I suppose it _is_ quite refreshing to see that everyone has stopped…throwing things at the mages."

"I've noticed something about how you react to the Little Lady coming up in conversation…" I say, crossing my arms. "Anything she's done, any mention of her and you get this look on your face."

His jaw ticks, "I have not spoken to her. What I know of her is incredibly…contradictory. She is likely a charlatan attempting to use the mages and nonhumans in Haven for her own ends."

That makes me laugh, "you know, I half-suspect the same thing sometimes?"

He looks down at me in surprise, "do you?"

"Yeah, I mean. I'm a realist, no matter how much I wanna believe the best of people." I shrug, "it's just…the people here, they like her too much. Everyone has something nice to say about her. That's weird. Usually people grumble about each other, no matter how great they are." I tap the side of my nose, "I think maybe she was just here for so short a time- and now nobody knows if she's going to survive…so…"

"They do not wish to speak ill of the woman who may soon be dead," Chuckles talks like he's chewing on the words, now. Like this has never occurred to him. Though, the way the guy isolates- maybe it hasn't. He's observant, but…

"Yeah, that and…well, the kids," I glance over toward that cabin behind us where the kids live and shake my head. "Nobody wants to badmouth anybody in front of them, I'd guess, and they're always underfoot since the little Lady's been…indisposed."

"I have heard a few negative opinions…in Haven," he says. But he says it like it's already bein' dismissed.

I huff, "Templars she put in jail that are now free to roam the streets, you mean? Yeah, their commander let 'em out to defend Haven but he isn't lettin' 'em harass the mages and they're sour about it. They think it's because the Commander is 'an honorable man' who's abiding by the Divine's appointment of the woman as Arbiter of Justice, so he can't be held accountable for how he punishes 'em."

"Human Fereldens have a…strange and complex view of their women," his nose wrinkles a bit. "They bend over backwards to demonize a woman who has done something they don't agree with- but the Chantry is run by women and they speak deferentially of 'sisters' and 'mothers'. There is a simultaneous respect and disgust that I do not understand."

"Nobody who's worth anything, understands that kinda thing," I shrug.

He hums, "I feel as though…if I understood, I could change it. But people don't often care for logic as much as they do for simple answers."

"Got that right," I mutter. "Hawke and Blondie used to try to argue with people, you know. But near the end of it all…they were both just too tired to keep trying."

"I have not heard much of Anders that was not…inflammatory," he says slowly. "Does no one believe his actions were justified?"

"It isn't so much the 'blowing up a chantry' thing that bothers me, personally," I cross my arms and sigh. "It's more that…Meredith was already declining, it was obvious. Whether it was her going power-mad or an effect of the Red Lyrium, it was obvious she wasn't right. And then he goes and lights a fire that ends up blowing apart Kirkwall."

"I have heard that she was on the verge of murdering the mages in the tower even before the explosion," he says.

We're moving forward, slowly but surely. I can almost see the front of the line. It moves pretty quick.

"Yeah, but there's a difference." I point out. "Her actions would've been confined to the mages. Mages would've fought back, Templars would've killed some- Hawke and the rest of us would've been defending them, and would've won anyway." Only a fool bets against Hawke. Especially when you add in the rest of us, watching his back. "What Blondie did…there were civilians involved. My home was…wrecked."

Chuckles thinks for a minute, then says, "the powerless…children, the poor, elves…it is regrettable they were involved at all. But this war was inevitable to begin with, was it not?" He sways on his feet a little. Tends to do that when he gets real deep in his own head.

"Because the Templars chose to see blood mages and abominations in every mage they housed in the circle? Because Meredith refused to give them even the lowest level of personal dignity or respect?" he asks, "Because all the mages asked for was the benefit of the doubt and they were continually refused?"

I have nothing to say to that, really. So I wait. He's still got more in him.

"Was it not the _Templars_ who broke into homes and went about burning and raping and pillaging, while the mages simply ran and attempted to defend themselves? Anders did not kill the civilians, he did not kill the children. You can conceivably say he killed many mages by starting that fight, but any other deaths that happened that day? No, it wasn't Anders who killed them." His lips are pressing so tight together now in-between sentences they're white. "The Templars killed those people. The Templars caused the mages to throw the fireballs that blew up homes and burned down shops. The Templars refused to stand against their leader when she was clearly in the wrong. Regardless of anything else…Anders was simply an excuse to do what the Templars have always _wanted_ to do."

"Kill Mages," I nod. "I don't blame mages for what happened. And I'm not sayin' it's logical. But I trusted the guy, and he turned out to be different than I thought he was. I felt… _betrayed_. Still do. I don't hold it against him, I mean…what would I have done in the same situation, really? Probably would've done it sneakier…" I smirk a little and shrug. "But hell, if I'd been hated by society from the second I was born, I'd probably be ready to blow shit up too, right?"

Chuckles looks down and then back up, shifting his weight again. "I suppose I can understand…agreeing and still being angry."

Never really thought of it that way before. Agreeing but still being angry.

What Anders did, it doesn't feel right _..._ but I don't think it was _wrong_ , either. I'm still workin' on what that means and how it makes me feel about…everything.


	19. Chapter 19

I woke up on a tiny mattress. With a small tray set up next to it with little cakes and a cup of tea.

Which...I was _not_ expecting.

I mean, the fact that there's food and stuff here, just means that Solas was probably eating down here instead of going outside- or…I'd think that, if I didn't know that Solas is supposed to be outside Haven by the time I wake up.

Which means these fresh cakes and steaming cup of tea were made and delivered probably after he left…

"You are awake," a familiar lilting voice chimes from the darkness.

I focus in on the darkest corner of the dungeon, "I showed signs…or there wouldn't be food down here. And you wouldn't be waiting in the shadows."

There's a pause, "you began to move around a half hour ago. Your healer said you would either die, or wake up. He wasn't hopeful for the second option."

"And now that I'm awake…" I sit up and reach out, careful of my shackles as I pick up one of the cakes on the tray. "Can I ask what's going on?" then I shove the cake in my mouth because I'm _starving_.

She steps out of the shadows to walk toward me. Standing before me in a shaft of light from above.

Leliana's armor looks like it's made of…scales? Some kind of dragonling leather armor, maybe? Probably really flexible, good for the kind of fighting she'd be doing, with a bow and arrow or daggers. Maneuverable. Dyed purple, so deep a purple that her armor melts into the shadows easily.

And her boots are simple, but laced with pretty black ribbons. Her belt, gloves and even the bow and arrows on her back, match the ribbon.

The light illuminates her in a sinister, mysterious kind of way.

"What do you remember?" she asks.

I cast my mind back, "organizing a communal dinner all day in between other duties, then running up to the Temple to get any mages or servants still over there…and then…nothing." The excuse to go to the temple is fabricated of course, I came up with it before running up there so if anyone stopped me to ask what I was doing there, I'd have a reason.

And it _is_ true…if I'd run across any mages or servants on my way up, I'd have definitely told them to get down to the potluck before they missed it. So it's not _exactly_ a lie.

I honestly can't remember what happened beyond that part…aside from what I remember from the games.

I thought about what I'd tell them when I woke up a few times, and…telling them straight-up about Corypheus is a big no. But I could imply and misdirect toward a key suspect to get Leliana investigating the Grey Wardens before she originally does in the game.

"Except…" I frown and stare at the floor. "Colors."

"What colors?" she gets down on one knee to look me in the eye, so I meet her gaze.

Though it makes me uncomfortable, people will assume you're lying or hiding something if you look away. "Colors and shapes, different ones…first it was Blue and Silver…with a shape like…a bird?" A griffon has the head and wings of a bird, so it's plausible for someone to make that mistake.

She nods, "go on."

"Then there was red and black, but it was more of a big, person shaped blur," I say. "And then…green."

"Green?" she tips her head to the side. "Like that?"

I glance down at my hand that she's gestured to and feel a real jolt of surprise at seeing the Mark.

I mean, it hadn't really hit me yet, that I…have it. "Uh…kinda exactly like that. And also…darker and duller shades of it, too-" I speak while examining the mark and stop when I see the pattern on my palm. "It looks like a fingerprint…"

Just like the Orb.

"Anything else?" she asks in a very detached tone of voice.

"Bright gold," I respond. Looking back up to her, I connect to her eyes again. "In a…feminine shape? That's it."

She's the one to stand up and break eye-contact as she turns on her heel and walks to the door, "Seeker Cassandra will collect you shortly. Cooperate and you may yet survive."

"Survive what?" I ask quizzically. "Is this thing-"

I don't get to finish my 'innocent' questions before the mark erupts in a fiery conflagration of energy and light- and PAIN.

I don't scream, but it's a near thing. I gasp and clutch my left wrist with my right hand. The pain radiates from my palm, but it isn't _contained_ there.

It sweeps up my arm, over my shoulder and across my chest and back with a sensation like being boiled alive and hit with lightning at the same time.

"Nngh!" I realize Leliana is gone the same moment the eruption stops and instead of sharp pain, I now have dull throbbing to deal with.

Throbbing is never _just_ feeling your heartbeat in your body like you're a balloon being palpitated- but also a dull pain that- no matter where you're throbbing? Gives you a headache.

Every throb is accompanied by a sharp breath until eventually it starts to slow down and become less intense.

After a few minutes, it's almost completely gone.

I was so focused on my arm, I completely forgot to prepare myself for confronting Cassandra.

So, when she walks in the room with a slam of the door and a thud of her armored boots…I'm a little caught off-guard.

Not only at the expression of muted rage on her face, but because…goddamn she's beautiful.

' _Wish I still had my sketchbook. My paints…fuck, I'd carve her in_ _ **marble**_ _._ ' An eternal representation of her beauty.

Clad in black-and-silver armor with a large sword on her hip. A hip that's cocked as she stops before me on my tiny mattress.

She stares down at me with a cool yet angry expression for a moment before she speaks. "No one has been able to tell me your name."

I blink, "no one ever asked."

Her hands clench and release, "Justinia- the Divine, would have asked."

"She didn't," I respond. "She was occupied with other stuff. You know, war. Whiny Chantry officials that kept questioning her every move…"

Her lips press together and she takes a step back, "on your feet."

I really want to point out the fact that _she_ isn't asking for my name either, but since I don't wanna get backhanded and I feel it might be cruel to poke at her at this point in the storyline…I just do as she asks. And what do I tell her, anyway?

My name would be out of place here, especially as my last name would be completely incomprehensible or just…mark me as from a place I'm not from, which would just confuse everyone.

Solas and Sera go by only one name. Maybe that would be fine…it still won't fit but at least it won't be _super_ out of the ordinary.

And then I see a familiar Vashoth mercenary in a nearby jail cell and I lose my shit.


	20. Cassandra POV

"He knocked one of the Templars on their ass and they said _you_ did it?" the Lady Arbiter, named by Divine Justinia herself, speaks with a tone of incredulity to her voice. "Why didn't anyone believe him when he said _he_ did it?"

"He's tiny," the Qunari huffs. "A mage is one thing, an Elf another- but an _Elven_ _mage_? I mean, don't get me wrong, he's taller and broader than Ren…but he's still smaller than _I_ am."

"They were embarrassed to get beat up by a mage that didn't have to use magic and decided that the bigger, stronger-looking mage would be less embarrassing," the Arbiter deadpans.

"I'm Vashoth," the Qunari shrugs. "One look at me and people don't blame you for getting your ass kicked."

They both seem to think it's possible that Solas was able to defeat the Templar. It can't be possible. Even as much as he went out to fight demons encroaching on Haven, his abilities were…within the normal range with magic. If strange and unorthodox in technique.

The Arbiter rolls her eyes, "fucking stereotypes."

"What?" I ask.

"Stereotypes. It's a word meaning, well- if you think all Elves are servile or if you think all Qunari are angry and dangerous all the time or if you think all Dwarves are criminals," she stops once again to pluck Elfroot from the snowy ground.

I've learned it is useless to try and stop her. And it takes her only a moment, taking the dagger the Qunari gave her the first time and using it to loosen the soil before shaking off the roots and shoving it into a pouch on the Mercenary's hip.

"A stereotype is when you condense all the negative ideas about a group of people and apply it to everyone of that group," she hums happily as we walk further along the path. "So much Elfroot out here, with our garden, we should be able to supply Haven with a lot of potions…how were we doing on that, Arisala?"

"The mages jumped to treat the wounded and throw up barriers around Haven when this all started happening," the Qunari says. "Wanted to prove they had nothing to do with the explosion."

"Nothing has been proven one way or the other, we are still gathering evidence," I say. "That blast was magical, you cannot tell me it wasn't."

"Cassandra, I know this is gonna blow your mind, but…" the Arbiter scoffs. "Not all mages agree with each other, or even like each other. Even if it was a mage, and it probably had something magical to it, yes- it's still not likely it was _my_ mages. They were scared to even draw the Templar's attention, for god's sake."

I turn my head to observe her as she harvests another Elfroot plant, "what god do you call out to?"

"Does it really, actually matter?" she says as she stands and hands the plant off to the Qunari. Then turns to look at me. "Will knowing the exact name of whatever god you think I worship tell you anything about me? Or are you just looking to tell me I'm a heathen if the answer isn't 'The Maker'?"

My lips tighten, "the Maker is-"

"Your god," she cuts me off. Irritating little woman. "He's _your_ god. Other people have gods and they feel the exact same way about them, that you do about him. Acknowledging that isn't losing faith in your own. It's just being respectful and tolerant of others."

"The Chant must be sung from one end of Thedas to the other," I remind her. "How are we to accomplish this if not by denouncing heresy?"

She looks at me with flat eyes and I feel a shiver attempt to overcome me. "Oh I dunno. Bringing everyone together in love and harmony, teaching them the Chant and accepting and loving them whether they believe or not? By living as an example of your faith that doesn't stand for violence, tyranny and oppression?"

"Tyranny!" my face feels hot. "What Tyranny?"

"As much as I'm enjoying this," the Qunari interrupts. "We need to keep moving."

And so we do, the Arbiter and I still looking at each other as we walk. "Can you tell me how we are so awful that we should be called Tyrants, Arbiter?"

She cocks a brow at me and stumbles over a large rock in the path, "besides the Circles and all the ways you've already been told it's tyrannical, you mean? Because I can do that."

The Qunari snorts in amusement, "I thought you had some balls before, but you're staring down a Seeker right now, you know that, right?"

"If Cassandra were the kind of person to hit someone for disagreeing with her, she wouldn't be right hand of the Divine," she says. Surprising me.

She notices my surprise and gives me a very unimpressed look, "not everyone who disagrees with you is going to do so because they think you're a violent brute who doesn't know how to converse. A lot of people have valid gripes about the Chantry. Why don't I list them for you?"

She doesn't give me a chance to interject and I am too curious to stop her.

Seeking out knowledge is what I do, even if I do not agree with her opinions.

"Firstly: you try to force other people into your religion at sword-point, which I kind of think falls under unprovoked harm against the Maker's children, which he frowns upon, does he not?" she says.

"It is not unprovoked," my brow furrows. "The Chantry acts when it is necessary to act."

"Like when you couldn't stand the Elves worshiping their own gods and ya'll stormed the Dales?" she counters.

"The Elves attacked first!" I defend.

"No. There were skirmishes between the Dalish Elves and the Humans trying to encroach on their territory. These skirmishes wouldn't have been different than any other conflicts. It could've stayed that way. A small-scale collection of fights that would've eventually equalized," she says. "But instead of letting them all work out their own boundaries, the Chantry decided to raze the Dales and take them over. Didn't Andraste's sons _give_ the Elves the Dales, obviously knowing they worshiped different gods?"

I scoff, "why would Andraste approve of the worship of other gods?"

"There are many reasons why she might, actually," the Arbiter says with a calmer countenance than before. "For one, she could've had faith that they'd eventually come around to the Maker if she showed them kindness and tolerance. For two, she might've not cared that they worshiped someone else, as long as they fought for what she fought for. For three, Andraste considered Shartan her equal and their people merged. He was not her subordinate and she recognized he and his people's freedom and autonomy. And also, how do you know they weren't worshiping the Maker right _alongside_ their gods?"

I frown at her, "that…couldn't be acceptable."

"Really?" she asks, raising her brows. "All the Maker really says is that the people have forgotten him. So far as I know, I can't remember him having a problem with other gods, so long as he was worshiped, remembered and the Chant was sung."

I huff, "Andraste says many times-"

"But does the Maker?" she asks.

And then she is on her knees, gritting her teeth as another pulse of power rushes through her body.

"Arbiter," I step toward her and stop. She has informed me that touching her directly after a pulse is…incredibly painful. But we must keep moving.

" _Fucking_ hell. I'm fine, just give me a minute," she pants.

Regardless of our differences in opinion, I have to admire the Arbiter's fortitude. And I can see why the Divine would have appointed her, now. She does not waver in her beliefs.

That does not mean I no longer suspect her…but I am beginning to think causing an explosion- causing the Breach, could not have been her doing.

She is not a mage, and she is firmly against unprovoked action.

But could she have considered it provoked? I know not.


	21. Solas POV, Lady Arbiter POV

' _There's nothing more I can do._ '

My hand drops from the rift and my shoulders fall as it fluctuates- preparing to spit out more twisted Spirits.

I feel powerless.

I have never felt powerless in my life. Even when I first woke from my slumber, there were things I could affect, things I could do.

Now, I'm faced with the very real possibility that this world could be destroyed in a more violent and horrifying way than I'd intended…and that the Spirits would pay for my arrogance- my pride…more than anyone else.

"Chuckles, get back!" Master Tethras calls out to me.

I inhale sharply and warp the Fade around me, stepping backwards and stopping next to the dwarf. "I cannot effect it."

"Kind of a long shot anyway, wasn't it?" he asks. Then aims his crossbow at the flickering rift as it throws three wraiths from the Fade into reality. "So we're just gonna bank on…Seeker?"

A great yell is released as Cassandra rushes past and slams shield-first into a newly formed rage demon.

Varric laughs and starts firing into the demons nearby, "alright, now it's a party!"

I throw ice at the rage demon with a flick of my staff and ask, "what do you mean?"

"In Kirkwall, we never went out without a rogue, a mage and a warrior," he explains as he fires into the air, an arrow volley from above piercing the hides of three demons and the forms of two wraiths. "Hawke always wanted to be sure we had all the skills we needed to get through a fight and he refused to compromise his strategy."

"You only ever went against enemies with three people at a time?" I ask. That seems…incredibly unwise.

"Four," he chuckles. "Hawke was a mage and always there, but he insisted on bringin' either Blondie or Daisy if he thought we'd need a healer or…a powerhouse."

He carefully never says 'blood mage' when he speaks of Merrill, it seems.

"So he'd bring me, Rivaini or Choir Boy for his rogue and he'd have his pick of his grumpy brother, Aveline or Fenris for his warriors." He laughs a bit louder. "There are certain combinations you just don't make if you don't want your party killing each other. Blondie and the elf were a sure bet for a fight, and the elf and Daisy didn't take all that well to each other. So it'd all depend on if he was bringing Blondie, Daisy or going solo as the group's mage. Then we got to bring two rogues or two warriors." He huffs, "had to be careful never to put Aveline and Rivaini together, too. That was just asking for trouble."

We fight in synchronicity after that, moving smoothly into place as the Seeker takes point and we protect her back with shots fired at anything getting too close- or in my case, a barrier.

And I think to myself that this does seem a versatile arrangement. A mage to barrier and use combat magics, a rogue to attack with arrows or daggers, a warrior to take the focus…yes, it seems almost perfect.

There is no healer, but one cannot have everything. I could double as one, if necessary, but I am not quite…proficient. The only body I have worked on consistently is the Lady Arbiter's and not for very long yet, either.

* * *

 

Lady Arbiter POV

"Move the debris out of the way!" I gesture at all the fallen rocks and wooden beams. "If people are trying to transport over this shit, they'll trip and drop their wounded, just move it!"

"Arbiter…" Arisala is looking off toward the rift where Cass is fighting…with Varric…and…yeah.

"Go help them, I've got this until you can beat all the demons," I reassure her.

She leaps down from the top of the foundation where we've been tending to the wounded.

Arisala takes care of severe injuries, I take care of smaller ones. That's what I've had my mages doing since I first got them to start listening to me about anything.

I wish Ren was here with me. He's so _boss_ at healing.

Since all that's left is getting everyone onto make-shift stretchers cobbled together from ripped up armor and clothes off of dead bodies strung between poles made from hacked apart fallen beams…I should be able to handle it.

It was hard as fuck to get that to work, lemme tell ya.

Not only are you working against the clock to get them outta there before they bleed out- you gotta deal with a bunch of people who feel it's disrespectful to cut clothing off of dead bodies.

I had to say, I had to look right into their eyes and say 'I don't think they mind' in a dead tone. Then I had to say 'In fact, I think they'd be glad to help out, now are we doing this or not?' and then…well.

They did it with extreme regret and respect, but they did as I asked. ' _Care for the living before the dead, always._ ' I understand their reticence, but people are dying left and right, damn it.

I help people lift bodies onto stretchers, help pack wounds with elfroot poultices soaked into their under -armor and then pressed to the wound. We don't have any bandages and the clothes we're cutting off the dead- I wouldn't trust near an open wound.

Then I hear Arisala shouting for me, "Arbiter!"

"On my way!" I walk over to the edge of the foundation and jump down, rolling my weight from the balls of my feet to my hands as I land in a crouch. I scuff my palms, but at least I didn't break my leg.

I hiss as I stand and trot toward the giant green rip in the air, "damn it."

I walk up to the thing and realize I have no idea how to do this…and that I'm going to have to let _him_ show me and I am just…

I turn my head as I feel someone approach and see him there. Putting his staff away on his back, looking severe and focused. "Quickly, we must seal it before more come through!"

"Ya got a tip on _how_?" I ask, waving my glowing hand at him. "How the fuck do you work this thing?"

He stops next to me and grasps my wrist, "simply focus. You must _want_ it to close!"

Well that's helpful.

I huff and turn with him as he thrusts my palm at the rift. So I focus. I focus on wanting. I focus on- ' _Let me be able to do this. Please. Connect to the rift-_ '

To my great surprise it does- and it feels like the worst pain I've ever felt in my life in the moments before I realize I have to focus again. ' _Close, close, close-_ '

And I stagger backwards with the force of it when it does. Feeling something heavy smack into my palm as if I yanked all the reality back out here with me and it has weight to it. Or…something else, I don't know.


	22. Varric POV

Chuckles still doesn't seem sure about our little lady Arbiter, but…I gotta say, I'm convinced.

"The fuck even is this?" she asks as she goes messing around in demon goo. "Why do they have gold coins in them?" She holds up a goopy Sovereign and makes a face, "where the hell did it get one of these?"

"Spirits _are_ able to manifest objects," Chuckles is being silent and distant, as usual. Only talkin' when he feels like somethin' needs to be said or somebody needs to be corrected.

"Well yeah, duh-" she says with her nose all scrunched up. "But why specifically a Sovereign and why did they keep it past their transition into the world? And if it was picked up, why did they pick it up? It was a _rage_ demon, not envy or greed."

Chuckles shifts and his body language changes, "perhaps it had personal connotations." Open to discussion, but defensive about his stance.

"Sure, maybe," she shrugs. "But it still begs the question, if they were going to try and hold onto something when the rifts were ripping them out of the Fade-"

"We should move on," the Seeker shakes her head. "I will indulge your incessant need to pick Elfroot, but nothing more. We are running out of time and you are delaying us unnecessarily."

The little lady quirks a brow at the Seeker, "I found a lyrium vial on that last demon. I dunno how it got _that_ either, but it was there. I'm finding stuff that can be used, whether _you_ can use it or not doesn't really matter. It's still useful."

The mercenary huffs, amused as she fingers said vial of Lyrium on her belt. "Arbiter…"

"What?" she throws her hands out at the merc with a huffy tone. "We're moving along at a pace that's just fine, Ari. _I'm_ the one exploding a little every few minutes and the pointless circular arguments about whether or not we should move faster take up more time than my looting does."

The Seeker purses her lips and turns on her heel, marching off on the path.

The lady Arbiter rolls her eyes, "plus- not all of us are _warriors_ , Cass."

The Seeker pauses and turns to glare at the Lady Arbiter, "that is Seeker _Cassandra,_ to you."

The Arbiter levels an unimpressed glance at the Seeker, "I'm callin' you Cassie, _now_."

The Seeker's face turns bright red and she whips back around to march off again. "Let's go!"

"It would perhaps be wise to move just a bit more quickly," Chuckles says, slowly and with obvious caution.

The Lady Arbiter shrugs, "I'm not a combatant, Solas. I can't keep going past the point when my legs are beginning to knock together in fatigue. So regardless of if we need this shit or not, I need to stop and rest. Why not make myself useful while I do so?" She's walking off toward the Seeker as she talks. "But yeah, you're right. I shouldn't just stop to indulge these arguments, we can have them as we walk."

He's looking after her with a tilted head and a look on his face that says 'I just don't get you'.

I drift back toward the merc and chuckle when she looks down at me and her chin touches her chest. She's damn tall. "Hello there…?"

She bares her teeth in a grin that's a little too threatening not to be on purpose, "Arisala Adaar."

"Varric Tethras. Haven't met many Tal'Vashoth that weren't tryin' to kill me," I note with as charming a grin as I can muster. "Happy to meet ya, Undertaker."

She narrows her eyes at me and Chuckles drops back further to walk with us.

The Arbiter and the Seeker are pretty far ahead, walking abreast of each other. We should pick up the pace.

"How did you know she was a Necromancer?" Chuckles asks, eyes curious and probing.

I laugh, "Chuckles…if you spend all your time around criminals and cutthroats, you start meetin' apostates. When you start meetin' apostates, you start seein' things that you wouldn't otherwise. Hawke, Daisy and Blondie aren't the only mages I spent time with in my life."

"But how could you tell if I didn't raise a corpse in front of you?" the merc asks with a pensive expression.

"A lot of ways that probably wouldn't come out right if I tried to explain 'em," I say.

After all, how do you explain the minute differences between facial expressions that people make when specific topics pop up? Or that those different expressions can tell you more about the person than their actual opinions would? Or any of the millions of other small things I pick up on a daily basis that other people just _don't_?

"What do you make of the Arbiter?" Chuckles asks in a low tone. "Do you believe she is who she presents herself as?"

"I think she doesn't _present_ anything," I gesture ahead. "Never seen anything like it. She really and truly just does not give a damn what people think about her."

"And as to her activities in Haven?" he asks.

Undertaker breaks in there to scoff, "what are you two talking about?"

"Just tryin' to figure out if the little lady is who she says she is. I think so," I shrug. "Chuckles is still on the fence."

She makes a face at us, "you couldn't just ask one of us?"

"You are one of the people who follow her, your opinion is biased," Chuckles replies.

Her lips purse, "then ask _her_. Whatever she answers, truth or lie, it'd tell you something, wouldn't it?"

Huh.

So I hustle myself forward to catch up with the Seeker and the Arbiter and hear Chuckles and Undertaker moving to keep up behind me.

She glances over her shoulder at us, "having fun gossiping, guys?"

I laugh through my surprise, "that's some good hearing you've got there."

She laughs lowly, "I didn't _hear_ anything. I just know that's what you were doing."

"Then enlighten us on a few things," Chuckles speaks up. "And put our minds at ease."

"She will not answer you," the Seeker grumbles. "I have asked for her name and she has not answered even that."

Schemer smirks something mischievous, "you didn't actually ask. You just said you couldn't believe that no one _had_ until now."

The Seeker stops and turns to face the Arbiter with a red face and ticking jaw, "the question was implied!"

"You don't _imply_ questions you actually want the answer to," the Arbiter replies.

"What _is_ your name?" I ask.

She turns to me with a small smile, "just call me Nik."

And I swear the Seeker is literally steaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Arisala is dubbed-- Undertaker. lol


	23. Solas POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read My Author's Note at the Beginning here, guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to ask you guys a very important question:
> 
> What do you REALLY want from a fantastic romance? If you were to romance a magical creature-- be it an elf, a fae, the creature from the black lagoon or even one of the many nonhumans in the Bioware games-- what is it about them that draws you in?
> 
> Is it that some of these monsters are gentle and sweet? Is it the danger of it? Is it that you want to be a hurricane of a woman who's the only one who can not only keep up with but also cow a magical man?
> 
> And is it just sex that you think of when you see it in your minds' eye? Or is it sensuality, connection, commitment of a spiritual kind rather than of wedded bliss? Or is it wedded bliss you see there indeed?
> 
> I'm writing an actual book now, so if you guys want to weigh in on this, give me your wildest fantasies. Comment with them, message me anonymously on Tumblr, send me a message over ff.net...just tell me.
> 
> What are your innermost desires and dreams? What do you WANT?
> 
> Don't hesitate, don't second-guess yourself, I won't think less of you even if your fantasy confuses you or makes you ashamed of yourself for having it. A fantasy is meant to soothe some need you have, every single one of them. It's merely a way to cope.
> 
> Your truest, unfiltered thoughts.
> 
> If you don't want to participate, that's fine. If you'd rather completely ignore this call for information, that is perfectly acceptable.
> 
> But if there's going to be a book out there that might encapsulate all your wildest imaginings in the most perfect way you can imagine, might it be worth it?
> 
> (If you read those last few parts in Solas's voice, you'd be right to. I think I was channeling him pretty heavily there.)

Civilians were still out on the mountainside, of course. Hiding in their homes, attempting to ride out the danger of the Breach, or possibly resolved to die together in peace.

As we come upon the frozen lake, there are demons roaming the area- though it seems they've only just noticed the cabins- as the civilians come running out of them screaming as if they've only just caught fire.

The Arbiter curses and lurches forward as if to rush after them, but the Seeker grasps her arm. "What do you think you could do?" she demands. "Leave the demons to us!"

"Handle 'em all you want, I'm getting the families!" the Arbiter shouts as she yanks away from the Seeker and rushes down the incline toward the frozen surface of the lake.

The Seeker makes an exasperated, disgusted noise and rushes after the Arbiter without delay.

Master Tethras and…I believe the Vashoth's name was Arisala? Both follow the Arbiter.

But I stand back on the incline and take advantage of the high vantage point to start harrying the demons going after the second family.

Two women and a small child huddle together in the snow and scream as I sling lightning at the demons attempting to converge on them.

I can hear the fight going on, on the other side of the lake- but the mercenary stays close to the Arbiter as ever and I've no need to do so myself. It would be odd if I were overly attached to a woman I'd never known, even if she _is_ the last hope for Thedas.

The last hope for all of my plans.

And then the demon of rage roars and throws a fireball instead of attempting to advance.

Not at me, but the family.

I throw a barrier up in time, but the child is panicked and running away, screaming.

She runs onto the lake, around the demons.

I turn to keep her in my sights just as the demon throws another fireball.

I barrier her, but she is too far. All I'm able to do is keep her from burning as the ice melts beneath her feet and she falls through.

There is a twinge in my chest, shadows or not, children are-

" _Nik, don't!_ " Arisala's voice is raised and I stare in befuddlement.

Unwilling to believe she is actually jumping _into_ the water until she has disappeared under the surface through the hole in the ice.

I fade-step down the incline and across the ice, through the rage demon as I go. A wall of ice encases it and it shatters as it attempts to break free. It is too brittle from the ice, so even as it is freed, it fades.

I stop next to the hole and kneel down next to it, ' _no no no, why. Why would you do this? What could possibly possess-_ '

A hand reaches up through the water and smacks into the ice nearby.

I drop my staff once I've lurched over to her position, shoving both of my hands filled with fire into the ice until it melts away and I'm able to grab the Arbiter and the child in her arms and haul them out, drenching myself in freezing water in the process.

They are both coughing up freezing water, but the child is becoming still and quiet. The Arbiter coughs and struggles to speak, "w… _hack_ arm…her… _cuhgh_ , up!"

I pull the child away from her, running healing energy through her while looking the Arbiter over at the same time.

Her skin is too pale and her fingertips are turning slightly blue- but she isn't as at risk of death from the cold as the child, quite yet.

I look down into the child's slowly closing eyes and coax her body into slowly warming up from the inside. Encouraging her heart to beat a bit faster, her blood to flow a bit more quickly through her veins.

Her mothers land on the ice next to me, crying softly and watching as I coax life back into her prone body.

The mercenary kneels next to the arbiter and I feel her magic rise up to warm her. "No." I make a negative motion with my head and look up to see a pair of frightened purple eyes glaring at me. "Not fire. Healing magic. If you warm her too quickly, you could do damage to her body."

She inhales sharply and sighs slowly, her hands lifting to hover over the Arbiter as they glow with bright purple power. Something feels…familiar in it. It seems she is working with a spirit.

The nature of it escapes me. I could learn what it is, if I were to reach out to her…but I am loathe to reach out and touch nothing, as I did before.

A cough draws my attention back to my work and the small child who is now blinking at me with curiosity. "Hi," her voice is rough and meek.

My throat tightens but I smile for her, "welcome back."

Her mothers crowd me then and I release her to them. They cover her face and hair with kisses and hold her tight between them, weeping with relief.

"Thank you," the Arbiter sighs.

But when I turn my head, she is speaking to _me_ , not the mercenary. Her eyes are focused on me.

My mouth opens, but I haven't the faintest what to say.

' _How could you risk all of our lives for one child? How could you risk your life without the guarantee you would live when you are so important? Why are you thanking me? What…how…why…?_ '

None of these questions are appropriate or…coherent, exactly.

So I simply bow my head with a false smile, "what else could I do?" Even knowing what they are, I have never been able to resist helping those who are in pain…real or not.

It is what separated me from others like me, she always told me. My capacity for compassion.

I feel numb since I've woken…and I wonder if I am simply going through the motions. Perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps it shouldn't.


	24. Nik POV, Solas POV

We walk into the forward camp, dry and warm, but tired. The mages more than me, Cass and Varric, cause they’d taken to throwing heating runes at each of us to keep us warm on the way up. Since, you know…we all got wet and cold.

Mostly they had to keep me from going into Hypothermic shock, though…

The Anchor’s still pulsing and it’s happening closer together-- though I couldn’t tell you by how much. I just know the times between are getting shorter. Solas agrees. And he’s…eerily quiet.

Like, watchful Wolf eyeing a Nug, quiet.

Which just makes me nervous as fuck.

“Regalyan!” Cassandra calls out, to my great shock. “Could you rejuvenate us?”

And then he walks up to us and I can see him and oh my god it’s Regalyan.

There’s a moment of confusion before I realize that I did this. I changed this. I saved him and I didn’t even mean to. I forgot all about him!

He laughs, eyes sparkling as he strides over to us, “you’re covered in goo!”

“As always, your observational skills are impeccable,” Cassandra deadpans. “Rejuvenation, please.”

He grins cheekily now, “well, since you said ‘please’.”

“Wait, not her-” Arisala tries to reach out and yank me back, though I don’t know what good that will do at warding off magic.

And then Regalyan gestures and a wall of cool air and comfort slams into me so hard I gasp and stagger backwards. It’s like walking into air conditioning after a day outside in summer.

Arisala catches me and steadies me on my feet, “shit, don’t. She doesn’t like that.”

“S’alright,” I slur through the bog of magic-haze that’s fuzzing my mind. “J’s…need a minute.”

“Wow, she looks drunk,” Varric observes. “She always react to magic like that?”

“You have to do it right,” Arisala sighs. “It’s…her body reacts to the Fade like it’s never touched it before. I don’t think she’s ever had to see a healer or been around mages till this war started up.”

“M’okay…” I mumble.

“We need to get to Leliana,” Cassandra gestures at me to follow her. “I trust you can still walk.”

“Ugh, if you wan’ me trippin’ over myself…” I drawl.

“One moment,” Solas steps up next to me and a rush of the same kind of energy touches me. But it’s…different this time.

In the first place, he seems to be extracting the energy that’s hazing me over-- and in the second…instead of comfort and cool air, it’s the sharp tang of river water in winter. Frosty cold, with a zing behind it. Like someone dropped a power line in it.

It doesn’t shock me or freeze me, but I can feel it, like the depths of the ocean are contained within that electrified river…

I gasp a little when he draws back, no longer as hazy as before.

So now that I’m good to go, we walk off toward that bridge where Leliana is arguing with Roderick. Ugh, I hate this guy.

He takes notice of us and the shouting changes topic, but not volume.

I mostly hang back while he shouts accusations and I’m highly entertained when he points in Regalyan’s face to make a point and Cassandra nearly breaks his wrist- “keep your hands to yourself!” she snarls.

But then I hear something behind me and when I turn to look…

“I must make my deliveries,” I think is what the little blonde elf is saying, down the bridge. I can barely hear her, but I can parse most of her words.

I start walking toward her and the Templar looming menacingly next to her, “you can do that later, I need attending to.”

I’d almost think he was hassling her for healing, except that she’s got a brand on her forehead and he’s very obviously uninjured. He doesn’t even look dirty.

“The Spymaster asked me to-” she’s cut off when he reaches out and grabs the box from her arms, putting it on the ground in front of her. I’m close enough he should be able to see me when he stands up, so I drift back behind him as he does.

“The Spymaster is just buying time, we’re all goin’ to die soon. And I need my little angel-” he reached out to grab her arm and that’s when I lost all the cool I had left.

* * *

 

Solas POV

The Lady Arbiter slips away from the group while the Seeker is arguing with the Chantry official, but she doesn’t seem to be attempting escape.

Instead she is heading directly toward a man in Templar armor who seems to be…ah. He is harassing a Tranquil, it seems.

I sigh and brush my fingers across Varric’s shoulder as I turn to follow her. Arisala and Cassandra were standing before us, and they cover our retreat without intending to.

We are within range to barrier and fire bolts when she makes her move.

She swept around behind the Templar with an icy fire burning in her eyes. Hot but still, like a frozen flame trapped in glass. And then it erupted as he reached for the girl with the Tranquil brand.

Varric and I are now concerned with crowd control.

Still now I can see her movements behind my eyes. Clumsy and uncoordinated in a fight, she has never fought against anyone seriously before-- and her movements were meant to disable so that he could not fight back.

She moved forward and parted the skirt around the back of his body, so that she could ram her knee up between his legs without obstruction.

He went down with a howl of pain and that is when she grasped him by the helmet and smacked his face into the wall next to the Tranquil, over and over as more Templars converged on us.

Varric took point and turned his crossbow on them threateningly as I threw up a barrier and drifted behind he and the Arbiter who was still smacking the Templar’s head into the wall. Not killing him or even knocking him unconscious, but certainly causing him pain.

His babbling shrieks for help are…I thought I had left this part of myself behind. The part that delights in the pain of others…no matter how distasteful they may be, it is…barbaric to take pleasure in it.

Isn’t it?

“You feel that pain?” the Arbiter wrenches his head back and strips him of his helmet as the Templars look on from one direction, and the Seeker and Spymaster watch from the other with Arisala, Regalyan and the Chancellor.

She holds him by the front of his armor and looms over him with brows arched angrily over burning eyes filled with fury. “You feel that fear? She might not be able to actively express that fear and that pain-- it doesn’t mean it’s not there every time you touch her.”

The Templar’s eyes are wide and his hands clutch uselessly at her hold on his armor. “L-lady Arbiter, I-”

“Didn’t I have you _locked up_!?” she shouts it and turns her gaze to the Seeker now. “Why hasn’t he been used as Demon fodder if you were gonna let him out?”

There is a pause in the air, as everyone…simply watches her.

She stares the Seeker down with increasing rage, her hands tightening on his armor and lifting him incrementally from the ground in his kneeling position. “His armor isn’t even _gooey_.”

The Seeker’s jaw sets and I expect her to intervene. But she simply speaks. “The Commander let them out when the Breach erupted. We were in need of higher numbers.”

The Arbiter’s eyes go cold, “then why didn’t you pull everyone else _back_ and send them to batter themselves against the enemy until they were all dead? You’d have bought yourselves time and you wouldn’t have _rapists and murderers_ walking around!”

“Nik,” I speak without considering the consequences. “I sympathize with your anger, but we don’t have time for this.” I half-expect her to turn her ire on me.

Her eyes spark, “have to save the world. Right?”

“Yes,” I reply.

Her expression changes so quickly it’s as if it was never anything but the visage of pleasantness it is now.

“I want every single one of these Templars in pristine armor to be brought to me.” She turns to look at the Templars grouped together on the other side of the bridge. “Now. I can see at least four of you in there, group up!”

And though some of them are reluctant, and even a small number attempt to run-- they are soon brought to us.

“Ya’ll are gonna charge and cover Commander Cullen and his people’s retreat back to Haven from the Temple,” she informs them. “Leliana, you’re going too, right? Can you make sure they’re made to do their fucking _jobs_ this time?”

“I will inform the Commander of their function,” she replies from beneath her hood, eyes glittering with something I cannot name.

Surprising that she would jump to follow her orders at all, considering last time we spoke she was convinced that the Lady Arbiter was possessed or otherwise compromised.

Though, as Arbiter of Justice for Haven, she is the highest ranking official here aside from Cassandra, I believe. Does the suspicion of her guilt not negate that?


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, um...
> 
> My brother got into an accident. So I might just spend the next couple days working on nothing but this fic.
> 
> I'm clear in another state and...what could I do even if I were there?
> 
> You might notice a change in tone.

"Alright, Nik?" Arisala is kneeling next to me as I sorta…hyperventilate. At the top of the damn mountain.

I just climbed an entire system of rickety ladders that I _knew_ were there beforehand- I could've sent those Templars up here with a contingent and charged with Cullen and the other Soldiers- I could've done so many things other than this.

But this was the right way to do it, even if it was the…hardest and most terrifying for me. I couldn't trust those Templars to save the Scouts stuck up here.

"Just need a second, hang on," I gasp for air as I say it, curled into a tiny ball and trying to catch my breath.

See, I went at the ladders like they're burning behind me, like I was racing a clock- to get it over with and so I wouldn't have time to pause between and possibly get stuck.

"Did you overextend yourself?" Cassandra marches over to ask. "What is the matter?"

"I'm not overly fond of heights and rickety ladders that could break and sheer drops off cliffsides," I say with a slowly quickening tone. I cut myself off with a sharp inhale and a measured exhale. "In fact, I fucking hate them."

I push myself up onto my feet with Arisala's assistance and notice everyone staring at me as I walk forward, from the corner of my eye. Whether it's concern or 'the fuck is wrong with her' or something else, I don't know, cause I refuse to look at their faces and see their expressions.

I know I'm all kinds of fucked up and don't deal well with pain and fear, I don't need to be reminded by other people staring at me with that look.

I can barely walk, with the pain from the mark throbbing my body and giving me a migraine, like…fucking…ugh! Add the shakes that have intensified because of my fear and…it's all just…incredibly hard.

"I wished to ask you something about what you said, earlier," Cassandra informs me.

I groan and crack my back as we walk, "fire away, Cass."

Her lips purse, but she chooses not to say anything about my name shortening, "you said the Chantry stands for violence, tyranny and oppression. Why do you think so? Beyond the Circles and the Exalted March on the Dales?"

I feel a weird fluctuation in the air and shiver, "you mean, 'what have they done to humans'?" I ask.

She huffs and tosses one of her hands in the air, "yes fine. What has the Chantry done to humans, if you prefer."

"They infantilize them," I reply. "Cassandra, I'm curious if you've noticed what the 'average' person acts and talks like in contrast with how you, the Nobles and other commanders of forces act and talk like."

Her brows furrow, "of course we behave differently."

"Yes, of course you do, but why?" I ask.

Her mouth opens and then closes- then opens again, "I…because we have been raised in different circumstances. Some people are farmers and others are warriors."

"And if a warrior or a scholar is born to a farmer, what usually becomes of them?" I ask.

She struggles with that a moment, "they could become a Soldier or traveling Bard, I suppose."

"Why not a scientist, a theorist or anything else a nobleman's son or daughter can become?" I ask, and feel that weirdness in the air again. It makes me shudder harder this time. Some weirdness in the Breach?

"They do not have the coin to pay for teachers," she says, simply.

I hum and give her a look, "and why doesn't the crown pay for teachers to teach anyone with any inclinations there are?"

She frowns harder now, "paying for all of that would be-"

"You're thinking the way Nobles learn, with one-on-one tutors," I interrupt. "Imagine a class of twenty being attended to by one teacher with one aide to assist. As it usually in the Circles, they would have peers and people ahead of them who could mentor them, but that wouldn't be a paid position. People would simply do that."

Her brow furrows, "it still seems…expensive."

"Indeed it is, investments usually are. And that is what education is, an investment," I say. "If you educate your people, the ones who want to study science may end up inventing something revolutionary, to the good of all. If not, they at least help with the production and refinement of medicine and medical techniques."

"I suppose," she nods. "I…have no idea why not," she admits, softly.

"Because the poor and uneducated are kept that way on purpose, Cassandra," I say. "People who work themselves to the bone just to survive don't have the energy to question their leadership and especially don't have the energy to rise up and depose it."

"Shit…" Varric's voice from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder in amusement and get a little freaked out by the look on Solas's face.

Varric is just kind of like 'not this revolution bullshit again' because he's just too tired of exploding buildings- I can hear the narration in my head, I do that sometimes…with people.

Arisala looks smug for some reason.

Solas…is looking at me with bright, probing eyes. Like he's trying to divine something from staring at me with them- from my soul.

I cough and turn back to look ahead, swerving around a large ankle-height boulder and laughing nervously. "Well…my point is, the rich could help people and they choose not to. The Chantry also, could help- with its many many donations. But instead of investing in education or anything else that could improve the overall condition of the poor and disadvantaged of Thedas…they just buy a couple loaves of bread, some blankets- to make themselves look good, but not actually change anything."

"You think the Chantry should not feed people?" Cassandra asks with furrowed brows again.

"I think there could be schools set up with Chantry funding where people could eat breakfast, lunch and dinner if the Chantry and Nobility pooled their resources and that a lot of things would change if they did. They wouldn't even have to put a dent in most of their fortunes."

She looks down as we walk, apparently thinking pretty hard about it. Cassandra's a Seeker of Truth, no matter whether she likes the truth or not, she has to ferret it out. She's a very naturally inquisitive person and it's nice to engage directly with her.

I can feel Solas's eyes burning a hole in the back of my head though, that's kind of disconcerting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think?


	26. Nik POV, Solas POV

So. We found the Scouts. And the Rift they were facing off against.

Closing a rift while in the midst of another spasm of the Breach widening up?

Is excruciatingly painful.

And not just in my body- I feel like my soul is being ripped apart just a little bit. Like the stuff that makes me up is being plucked apart by a needle.

I fall to my knees as the rift finally closes and gasp for air on my hands and knees- leaning into Solas without meaning to when he kneels down to check the mark. "They are speeding up again," he says grimly.

"Are the Scouts okay?" I ask, voice cracking as I curl up in the snow.

He sighs, "they are fine. You are not. The rifts seem to be harming you when you close them. Your insides are…being torn apart, a little at a time."

"That's what that pain is?" I ask in a croak.

"I need to heal you, will you allow me?" he asks.

And I blink up at him with surprise, turning my head to see him better through the fall of my hair. "I…okay," I don't normally get asked.

Everyone in camp just kind of avoids using magic directly on me, and I haven't really needed healing in a while. The first time I cut open my hand and then screamed in agony when Ren tried to heal me- because it felt like he stuck a finger in the wound and _twisted_ -

Well. From then on, only Ren, Dahlia and Arisala were _allowed_ to attempt healing me because they were the only ones I trusted to try and do it softer instead of waving off my protests as being fussy or overdramatic.

He's already seen what an excess of energy will do to me, but what about healing?

I flinch involuntarily when his magic touches my skin. It's…less upsetting than most people's, even Ren and Arisala's- but it still feels uncomfortably a lot like someone reaching inside your body and soul and stroking their fingertips in you.

It makes me shudder and shrink further away as his magic sweeps over my body, apparently searching out and repairing damage. "You have a curious sensitivity to magic," he says.

"No mages where I grew up," I reply through gritted teeth, hissing when he finally pulls his magic away. "Ugh…god…."

"None at all?" he asks as he curls a hand around my arm and tugs, urging me up onto my feet.

That's painful, but I can't get up without help, so I say nothing. I think he already knows.

I stand slowly but surely, weaving a little and having to lean heavily on him until Arisala walks over and takes the brunt of my weight- throwing one of my arms over her shoulder.

"No…" I sigh, "none."

Arisala tries to help me walk, but she ends up having to just pick me up and carry me. I'm so weak, I don't think I can take another one of those damn pulses.

"So…Lady Arbiter…" Varric tastes the title on his tongue like he's rolling a morsel of fine food around on his tongue. "You know, nobody can tell me exactly how you got appointed. Everyone seems convinced you just argued with the Divine and she gave you your job…'for some reason'." He shrugs at that last part.

"The Divine gave me my job because I told her that specific job needed to be done and apparently complaining about no one caring about justice is enough of a qualifier to become an Arbiter of it," I grumble.

"You know you got your job because you were the best suited to it," Arisala says. A little grumbly. "Nobody else cared as much as you did. Dahl says you managed to convince the Divine that Haven needed an Arbiter at all, and that's what made her appoint you in the first place."

Either that or I was just a convenient puppet to prop up and do what she always wanted to do, but could never do directly. Can't blame that wily old bitch, though. I'd probably have done the same. I'd have asked first, instead of just appointing someone.

Still…

"You have any insight here, Cass?" I say and then cough and clear my throat. God, fucking rifts.

"The Divine is not easily impressed," Cassandra says from the front of our little procession. "You were given your position because something you did, impressed her. That is all. Leliana would know more of the specifics as she was in correspondence with Divine Justinia before the…Breach."

"I'll have to ask her when we get back, if I'm still alive," I mumble, eyes growing heavy.

* * *

 

Solas POV

"Let her sleep," I say softly as the Arbiter goes limp in the Vashoth's arms. "She is in incredible pain."

"Any way to make it hurt…less?" Varric asks, looking at the Arbiter with compassion in his eyes.

"I have done all I can for now," I reply. "Any more will have to wait for after."

"She thinks she is going to die," Seeker Cassandra marches on with fortitude- but also with sorrow weighing her down. "And she is not complaining, or _demanding_ anything,"

That must seem a strange thing, in this world of selfishness and spite. "She seems the pragmatic type. This is her only hope of survival, as well as ours," I reply.

"I kinda think her own survival's not really high on the list of priorities for her," Master Tethras comments.

"She's always doing that, you know," the Vashoth sighs. "Jumping into the lake for that kid? Defending that Tranquil Mage? That wasn't out of the ordinary. She keeps stepping between Templars and Mages, men and women, elves and humans…she's gonna get herself killed."

"I had heard stories…" I reply and pause for a moment. "Why does she do it?"

"We asked once too, but we didn't really understand, I think," she says with a slight grimace. "Something about logic and the necessity of society and how bigotry is…unscientific, I think is the word she used…"

Ah, she is one of those, then.

I have met a few humans with the same beliefs, though not many. They refuse to believe that nonhumans are beneath them…but none of them ever seemed to believe they were inherently more worth saving than anyone else, either. And the Arbiter herself…throws herself heedlessly, headlong into danger for them.

"That explains why she is cordial, why even that she might be fair-minded. Not why she risks her life for them," I say.

"She said she has a philosophy, too," the Vashoth chuckles. "She said 'an Assassin tried to kill the Hero of Ferelden. He was an elf, bought from a whorehouse when he was a child. She befriended him, for no other reason than she wanted to, because she found him interesting and worth keeping around and getting to know. He became one of her greatest allies.' and she said it was her philosophy. Though it doesn't sound like one to me."

"I get it," Varric says and chuckles. "Even the meanest mercenaries I met in Darktown and Lowtown were brought to their knees when they were faced with a playful Mabari or a mewling Cat. It was…like a switch went off. Hawke says unconditional love will do that to a person."

A philosophy of unconditional love for the underprivileged. It _sounds_ positive. I wonder how it will go wrong.


	27. Arisala POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brothers arm is messed up so bad he's needing a lot of surgery, but he's woken up and spoken and everything.
> 
> Updating double today because I appreciated all the comments and support.

I don't know what to make of Solas.

I carried the Arbiter into the Temple, stepping around people-shaped pillars and glowing red rocks. Watching him from the corner of my eye the whole time.

When I first saw him, in that whole business with the Templars, I got a feeling like…a little shiver down my spine, like there was something off about him but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

Then I watched him put a Templar on his back in a few seconds with a few movements and a slight shift of weight. And I was even more confused about who he was and what he was there for.

Apostates pick up strange skills in magic, that's true. But his magic is so circle-ordinary he _has_ to be hiding his other talents. The question is why. I mean, he wouldn't need to in the mage camp.

Unless he's some kind of blood mage.

The Arbiter groans and shifts in my arms as we walk into the inner sanctum of the temple- or what used to be the inner sanctum, anyway.

"Are we there yet?" she asks with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.

"We are close," he says and hovers uncomfortably near us. The guy is already giving off vibes of being willing to kill to keep that mark functioning. He stares at it while we walk, like it's a shiny gem he'd like to pluck out of her palm and keep for himself.

I know what that looks like.

I don't exactly trust the guy, but I figure he's weird because he's an apostate who's been on the run alone. And maybe a little because he's just a naturally weird guy, which is fine…

He just better not risk Nik, not for anything. Especially not because he's got some kinda stupid magic envy.

I haven't given two shits about anything outside mercenary work in a long time. Nothing was worth caring about.

She's…strange. Everything has to be backed up by facts, even though I know, deep down inside- there's just a little girl crying out that the world is wrong and needs to be fixed. Because it's not fair.

She can talk about the unscientific-ness of bigotry all she wants. I know what she feels when she looks at a servant getting smacked or a woman getting groped isn't detached logical analysis.

She feels angry. You can see it in every line of her body, feel it in the air as it seems to almost shimmer with heat around her. I can even smell the way her blood rises to the surface in her skin.

I don't know what kind of anger it is, or where it comes from, but I know it's there.

We saw it earlier, when she was beating that Templar's face into a wall. Detached people don't do that.

She _wants_ to be, though. She wants to be detached _awfully_ badly.

As we walk through the Temple and hear snatches of people's voices- cries for help and even the Arbiter's own voice echoing through the broken-down hallways…her eyes shutter.

She detaches _herself_ and looks around with a blank expression.

Seems to unnerve the elf, as he backs away from her when she glances over at him with it. With an expression that bobs back and forth between fear and pain. So hell, maybe he realizes what's up with her and just isn't sharing.

It's not like I need to know. I'd like to, but I don't need to. Whatever it is that makes her the way she is, she's exactly what we need.

A human in a position of power, an Arbiter of Justice- lending a sympathetic ear to nonhumans and advocating for us? I mean, it's not like people haven't tried before. To give nonhumans rights, to break down the boundaries…

Other people cling so closely to their position of power above us, they're willing to do anything to keep that position.

We step into the center of the temple and…the most incredible thing I've ever seen…

A memory, playing itself out, outside the Fade.

A huge, monstrous shape- man-like but spindly and mostly a shape of darkness with smoking red eyes…points at the Arbiter as her ghostly form walks up to it. It growls in a deep voice, "kill her."

"Run!" another shape shouts at the Arbiter's shape. Looks like the Divine, with the hat shape on its head.

And then there's a shift and a ripple and the memory disappears.

The Seeker walks up closer to where the memory disappeared, "Justinia!?"

"It wasn't her, Cassandra," Solas looks grim when she glances back over her shoulder at him. "It was a memory of her final moments. The Fade bleeds into this place."

"Is it a true accounting of what happened?" she asks with tired determination.

"As true as any accounting told by a biased source can be," he responds. "The Fade tells the truth of individuals. The facts are there. The intent, the tone…may have been different."

Her head bobs in a short nod and she looks up at the rift- more like a crystal floating in the sky, constantly fluctuating and growing and sucking in and spitting out pieces of itself. "Why are no demons spilling from this rift?"

"It is temporarily closed," the elf falls into a lecturing tone and stance. "I believe it can be opened and then safely sealed…however, doing so…will mean attracting attention from the other side."

"That means demons!" the Seeker turns and addresses the Scouts that seem to appear from the shadows at her signal. Shit.

The Nightingale melts from a pocket of shadow not that far away and takes a defensive stance near me. "Keep her safe, I will protect your back and sides."

I nod and put the Arbiter down on her feet, one arm wrapped securely around her as I draw my staff and help her hobble over to the damn thing.

She breathes sharply and unevenly, "shit, another pulse is coming, quick!"

I pick her up under my arm and run up to the rift, settling her back down just as her hand snaps out and green energy leaps from her palm and into those damn crystal structures.


	28. Solas POV

I have never seen this kind of damage done to a mortal body before.

I am not a proficient healer, I have only ever had extensive experience with the Arbiter herself, but still I have never seen, experienced or heard about something like this before. Not even in the days before the Veil did anyone ever manage to…

What do I call this?

"It's like…tiny little bits of her were ripped apart- but no matter how tiny the bits are, no matter how much it shouldn't hurt her, it does," Ren is calm in his hands and his magic, but his eyes panic. "What is this?"

'How do we fix it?' we both wonder.

Because while we have healed her, fixed the wounds and the very small…ripped up bits of herself…she is still not waking.

She now has scars criss-crossing her body from her head to her feet.

One is situated directly over the outside of her left eyebrow, the other the right side of her mouth. It gives her a perpetually mischievous look, even while unconscious and pale. A subtle change, slight-almost unnoticeable.

I wonder what she will think when she wakes and sees herself. As far as I have seen, modern Thedosian women can have a wide range of opinions on scars. Women like Seeker Cassandra wear them as a badge of pride and accomplishment.

While women like the Lady Ambassador hide them with powders and veils to attain and maintain a look of daintiness.

"THAT BITCH DESERVES TO HANG!" a loud voice rings out above the others.

This has been going on since we brought her back, unconscious and bleeding.

There are a good number of villagers in Haven who still suspect she was behind the explosion of the Conclave.

"KILL THE MAGE QUEEN!" they've been calling her that rather a lot, as well.

Even if I weren't aware of the circumstances, the very idea would be ridiculous. She is not a mage, the blast was magical.

And if she were to work magic through her followers, she would have taken them with her, and they would be dead. Logic is in short supply here.

She shifts in her sleep and her lashes flutter at the sound of the shouting and screaming, but she does not wake.

Something impacts the door and I grasp my staff at the foot of the bed- and turn toward it.

Ren catches my other arm and gives me a very direct look when I glance back at him, "barrier first. And what do you imagine you're going to do?"

Ah yes, I am a meek, Elven mage.

I allow my mouth to curl into one of my more reassuring smiles and he releases me.

We walk out of the cabin together, barriers extended and intertwined. The mages here are quite proficient with interweaving barriers together.

( _They never taught us this in the Circle, of course not. Better ways for a mage to protect themselves? Ha. The Lady Arbiter heard us discussing magical theory and interjected questions- she was so confused when we called her a genius_.)

As far as I hear it, many of the innovations the mages have been making were simply because the Arbiter asked 'why not?' when they said it couldn't be done. Or shouldn't be done.

They are slowly realizing the rules and laws governing mages no longer apply to them. That could be as dangerous as it is wonderful. Because while some of them are like the elf to my left, or the Tal'Vashoth to my right, standing guard outside the Arbiter's hut- there are still many others waiting to lash out at everyone in Thedas.

"Where are the guards?" I ask the Vashoth, surveying the mess of Mages and servants standing guard outside the Arbiter's hut- a barrier keeping the rioters at bay. When the barrier falls, there are wagons and boxes and other things piled in their path to slow them, and as they attempt to clamber through it all, the Servants whack them with pots, pans and broomsticks.

It would be comical if it weren't so incredibly distressing.

"Lady Cassandra's out, clearing up the rest of the demons with the Commander and the Nightingale's…somewhere. Doing something creepy, I'm sure," the Vashoth replies. "All we've got are us. The Guards are supposed to be working directly under the Arbiter, but half of 'em are in on the riot."

I do indeed see men and women in Soldier uniforms attempting to press their way past. And others even still, standing back and watching the spectacle.

There are a paltry few on this side of the line, shields ready.

I sigh as the shouting grows louder and more belligerent with my appearance.

The people of Haven have taken to calling me many imaginative names. 'Knife Ear Sorcerer' is one of their favorites, though 'Deranged Blood Mage' is a close second and hurled not only at me, but all of the mages who protect the Arbiter.

There are a few mages who suspect her as well. Though they are not actively involved in the rioting, they are healing the wounded and studiously ignoring our existence.

The Lady Trevelyan informed me that they were afraid their freedoms would be revoked if they stood with the other mages against the soldiers and citizens of Haven.

Something cracks and my ears catch the sound of a slight hiss.

"Get back!" I throw a barrier over the area, but I cannot dispel the exploding rune.

It's too powerful for me to contain on my own, my barrier falls and wood debris is- everywhere.

We are all coughing and wiping dust and smoke from our eyes when the Arbiter slams open her hut door and marches out.

"The fuck is going on? Was that a goddamn explosion? Haven't we had enough fucking _explosions_!?" she demands as she strides down the steps of the cabin and toward the rioters.

She pauses and glances down at me with surprise, "shit, Solas. You look like you got into a fight with a cat."

I am certain I do. Everyone does. "I attempted to contain the blast, but I believe many are more injured than I."

She growls and whips about, pointing at the guards spectating. "What the hell are you doing just standing there? Take the damn rioters into fucking custody and put them into the goddamn dungeon!" She huffs as some of them move to comply, others reluctant to move. "If they'd just stuck to screaming and being assholes…" she mutters.

And then she turns and holds out a hand to me, to my surprise. "Come on, everyone with wounds that need immediate tending, into the cabin."

I take her hand, reluctantly. I detest touching…these people who are not people.

They feel entirely too real.

She helps me to my feet and smiles at me, squeezing and then releasing my hand in a strangely familiar move-

It isn't familiar here, I must remember that.

"Nobody pull out the healing magic till I've cleaned you up, come on!"

The guards are struggling to contain the rioters, though the less-injured of the mages take it upon themselves to help contain them until they can be put in shackles.

This is not the end of this, but for now, the damage has been contained. And all it took was a very angry, very small woman, shouting at everyone.

Amazing how easily the stupefied guardsmen could be…I suppose I would say, frightened, into obeying.

And now I have questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people don't like the jarr of the timeskips and stuff, but I really don't wanna rehash the canon main plotline moments.


	29. Chapter 29

God's sake, fucking rioters.

I mean, if they were protesting unfair treatment, or oppression or something like that, I could understand.

Their entire plan was to get in here to kill me, apparently, and that's just…no. I mean, even if I _had_ killed the Divine, even if it _was_ all my fault- I've got the mark. I can't even comprehend why they don't just know it's bad to kill their last hope to, you know, live?

But maybe word hasn't spread of how the mark works yet.

"Jesus, your face is…" I shake my head at Solas and grimace. "The alcohol's gonna sting like a son of a bitch." He really does look like an angry cat took a couple swipes at him.

"I can handle it, thank you," he replies stiffly.

I don't think he likes me touching him, tending to his wounds. Guy's wound tighter than…no, not going there.

I chuckle, "it isn't a manner of handling it. I'm telling you to brace yourself because it's the nice thing to do. Here goes," I press the alcohol soaked rag to his face and he barely flinches. "Good, here," I take his chin between two fingers and tilt his head so I can get at his jaw, throat and around behind his head without ducking and weaving around him like a squirrel trying to climb a tree.

"May I heal my face now?" he asks. Carefully, detached.

"Go for it, just nowhere else you've got cuts. Your neck is good too, but hey, gimme your hands," I take them as they're handed to me, dabbing at the scrapes, cuts and- "You've got splinters. I need tweezers."

"What's a twee-zher?" Dahlia asks from beside Solas on the bed, Ren tending to her wounds with his own alcohol soaked rag.

"It's like scissors, but they're used to grab stuff instead of cut stuff," I answer absent-mindedly. "like tiny tongs. I guess you'd use a needle in Thed-"

The splinters spontaneously pop out of his skin and he stares at me dispassionately when I gawk at him, "you can control shit in your skin?"

"I can force it _out_ of my skin," he replies evenly.

"Cool…" I breathe and start dabbing at his hand and wrist again with the rag.

"Are you cold? I suppose the runes could use renewing," Ren turns and flicks his fingers at the fireplace where a bunch of heating runes sit and give off heat.

I laugh, "cool doesn't- that just…it's a saying, a slang term, where I'm from. Things that are cool are interesting or awe-inspiring or something…surprisingly good, or something." I shrug helplessly and huff, kneeling on the floor to get to Solas's feet. Which are uncovered on the tops and sides for the most part and bleeding in places. "Damn. What've you forest-dwellers got against shoes? You'd think you'd need 'em the most."

There's the uncomfortable clearing of a throat that has me looking up and seeing Solas looking determinedly away from me with an embarrassed expression. "The ancient elves had no need of shoes."

"Yeah well the ancients were magical beings who could probably make their feet hard as rock or soft as a feather on command, can you do that?" I ask, both curious and kind of irritable.

He clears his throat again, "no modern mage could, I think." Which isn't really an answer, but whatever.

"Then put slippers on, for god's sake," I say with a small disbelieving laugh. "Like…you'll get your feet cut to ribbons for the 'aesthetic' of the ancients?"

There's a silence and I realize everyone in the hut is paying close attention to our conversation. Eavesdropping little shits, I love 'em.

"I would rather live as an elf was meant to live, than accept how humans have forced them to," he responds icily.

I look up and shrug, "alright. Do what you want, if it's that important to you. Just saying, you could probably find a tomb somewhere with ancient Elvhen shoes to reconstruct and wear instead of just wrapping leather around your feet."

"Perhaps," he responds with less ice but no warmth.

"Sorry if I insulted you," I stand up and shrug. "I just don't want you stepping on rocks and cutting your feet open, it…makes me nervous when I see Elves without shoes. But that's my problem, ignore me."

I drop the used rags into the nearby clothes bin.

"May I ask a question?" he asks.

"Besides that one? Shoot," I smile.

His brows furrow and then relax, and it occurs to me that 'shoot' might not be immediately recognizable as 'hit me with the question'.

"The guards jumped rather quickly to your orders, not all of them…but enough of them that were simply…bystanders, before you'd appeared," he says. "I have seen men jump to follow their commander's orders in battle, or children snap to their mother and father's commands…"

"But…?" I lead with a little smile.

"From what I can see, you are a simple civilian," he says. "Where did you learn to speak to people, to command them, to affect the…" he gestures at me, "the tall, straight-backed posture you put on for them?"

I'm slouching and relaxed at the moment, is what he means. How'd I learn something that usually only nobles know how to do in Thedas? Nobles, army leaders and other such people?

"Where I'm from, there are classes in school for public speaking," I respond. "You stand in front of a class of peers and you give a speech about a given subject and you have to engage them, not just…stand there and talk. You have to make them want to listen to you."

He stares at me for a long moment and everyone else in the cabin is watching us, either straight on or out of the corner of their eyes.

And then he nods and his brows furrow again, "where are you from?"

I grin, "you wouldn't recognize the names of the places if I told you, they're-" I pause and hum to myself a little, "I guess there's no going back there."

There's an air of tension in the Cabin then. Until Arisala cracks her back and sighs in relief. Then everyone just kinda goes back to what they were doing.

Solas is still sitting there, looking kind of contemplative- sorta melancholy too…

"Well. It's not like I'd _want_ to," I amend as I walk over and lean on the wall next to the bed. Out of everyone's way and close enough that I can speak softly to Solas instead of loudly to the whole cabin.

"You wouldn't wish to go home?" he asks.

"Home isn't a place," I respond. "Home is people. Home is good times you've had. Home is…family. Friends. Lovers, even." I smile and glance around the cabin. "I'm more at home here than I ever was, back there."

He hums noncommittally, "I see."


	30. Chapter 30

I startle Josephine by walking straight into her office, the morning I wake up from my…ah. Little nap.

She leaps to her feet when she sees me and rushes to the door, ushering me in with a few gestures and sweet words, "how wonderful it is to meet you, Lady Arbiter!"

"And you?" I say with a slight uptick to my tone while smiling at her.

"Josephine Montilyet," she says, curtsying, I swear to god. "Ambassador of the Inquisition."

"And organizer of all things, I'll bet," I respond.

She pauses as she rises, for like a microsecond and then sweeps back onto her feet. "Ah, well. Yes, the Inquisition hasn't the resources to hire enough people to manage everything that needs to be done."

"Well, I'm awake now. So I can take over my duties for you, again," I respond and sketch a bow. Left foot going slightly out and behind me, right arm across my chest, left arm stretched out to the side. "Lady Montilyet."

She smiles with excitement, "oh I wished to discuss your notes with you first, if you don't mind?"

"My notes?" I ask, frowning.

She falters at that, "in your cabin, there was a notebook. There was a formal investigation, you see…" she trails off with the realization I might consider that an invasion of privacy. "The lady Nightingale and I spent a few hours on figuring out what the words and abbreviations meant…"

"You deciphered my notes?" they were written in English! And I left out a lot of vowels and shit when I could, I mean- I could understand it and I needed to write fast so I…they actually read it? Or do they just think so…?

"Yes, written in vaguely Orlesian letters, but spelling out words in common. We spent a few minutes sounding everything out and translating it back into trade after we figured it out," she beams. "It was a very clever way to hide the information. Most people would not have the time or privacy to read aloud from your journal to try and figure out its secrets. Even less of them in Ferelden would be able to read Orlesian letters."

"That's just how we write back home," I inform her. "It's the only language I read and write in."

She purses her lips in a slight pout at that, "that won't do! You must learn at least a bit of conversational Orlesian, perhaps a bit of Antivan and…Tevene, perhaps."

"I'd love to learn, but for now…you had questions?" I lead her with a smile.

She brightens and turns to sit at her desk, gesturing me into the chair across it.

I pull it closer so I can sit down and lean on the edge of her desk. I'm tired, but I'm not gonna slump in the chair. At least like this, I look engaged in our conversation instead of droopy.

"There were notes on the wages," she said. "Normally wages would be handled by someone else, but as you declared it an injustice and against the Maker's law to pay any of his children less than others for the same job…" she smiles at me, "you were given purview. So you indeed control how much people are paid, but only in the event there is an inequality. You made a note that Elves and Dwarves should be paid more, though. What does that mean? Would that not be an inequality?"

"To be quite honest, inequality depends on the situation," I reply. "Let's say your family is rich and part of a Noble line." I grin at her, because we both know it is. "And let's say I'm just some poor farmer's daughter, or the child of a scholar from abroad. Our level of inequality is that of a Noble to a Commoner. You'd be afforded things I am not, and I would likely be expected to be some level of subservient to you, yes?"

Her head dips in a nod, watching me with attentive eyes.

She's not wearing that fluffy thing from the games, but there are ruffles on her dress of- what seems to be spun gold. Like gold thread, with lighter and darker threads of gold used to tool designs and create depth and texture. Over the dress there is a corset of deep blue and she has a cloak on the wall of the same color.

Some of the designs on her bodice are also lined in that color. She must be a vision all dressed up to go out. She is now and that's _without_ the cloak.

"If I were an Elf and you were still a human, there is the same level of inequality- but it's amplified by bigotry," I say. "Elves are expected to be subservient to humans on the whole- so even an Elf who managed to strike it rich will forever be seen as beneath human peers who've done the same. I mean, Dwarves tend to have more respect than Elves do, yes? Qunari too."

She nods again.

"So if I have an Elf doing a job, and a Human doing the same job, the Elf is going to have a harder time of it. Especially a woman. If I send a Human woman and an Elven woman to do a task, the Human woman might be groped or shouted at or even raped…but her chances of being menaced are much lower than the Elf's. And there are more obstacles in place that are minor annoyances but still make their jobs much harder."

"I see, so you take the risk of dealing with rowdy customers into account, and who would be their choice targets," she nods and looks at the notes. "More risk, more reward, would make things equal."

"But I can't just pay the nonhumans more, or the Humans left doing their servant jobs will feel affronted," I roll my eyes. "People have been taught from a very young age that fair is on the surface, and not to look deeper. So they won't question authority."

"But not you?" she asks.

"I was very much taught to shut up and do as I was told," I reply, then grin. "It's just not in my nature to be willfully ignorant."

"That is good," Leliana's voice startles me.

I whip around in the chair and pout at her as she walks into the room, "I'm gettin' you jester shoes with bells on 'em."

She hums, almost a laugh, "I would also like to discuss something in your notes. Something pertaining to the laws regarding…rapists?"

"For the time being, I haven't figured out a way to do it that won't cause a riot. Another riot," I huff and shrug my shoulders. "I'd just kill them, but that probably won't go over well at all. So I came up with the idea of castration seeming like a mercy."

Leliana's eyes flash, "we could very much make it seem a mercy."

"And so if that is settled…we must decide what to do about the outcry that will inevitably arise, from men of all kinds and the Templars especially." Josephine sighs daintily, "I would suggest some sort of reward for people coming forward- but then we would get so many false reports, hoping for coin…"

"I think if we hold a Chantry service and reiterate the laws of the Maker beforehand," I say slowly as I tap my chin with my fingertips in a rolling rhythm… "Then anyone who decries it as unfair could be met with suspicion and the question, 'do you ever intend to break the Maker's Laws? If not, why are you upset?' or something to that effect."

They look at each other at that and Leliana nods, "I will begin preparations. We must stand strong together from the beginning and show a united front. We will need Cullen's support."

"Send him to me, I'll be in my hut. Solas is still fixing…some minute damage, apparently." I'm achy and sore all over, and it doesn't change, no matter how much healing he does- but I've gotta assume something's happening. And trust that he can't let me die yet.

He doesn't have the power to steal the mark from me yet, which is all that protects me from him.


	31. Chapter 31

I spend a very nerve-wracking hour, shut up in my Cabin, waiting for Cullen to come over so I can talk him into castrating rapists.

"I have no idea what to say to him," I say softly as Solas tries to heal me again.

His magic flickers, as if in surprise, "to whom?" And that weird wiggle is back, what the fuck is that?

"We've come up with a punishment for…a specific sub-set of people in the dungeons, and we all need to be agreed on it, or we'll tear the Inquisition apart," I say.

There's that weird wiggle in the air again. I shiver at it, like I've been doing since it first popped up.

"If you don't mind the question…" he says slowly as his magic leeches out of my body. "what is it you will have to convince him of?"

"The castration of rapists," I reply.

I shiver and shake off that wiggle again.

"I see. Many of those being held under those charges are…you are addressing Cullen yourself, then," he says.

"Yes," I curl into a tiny ball on the bed, knees pulled to my chest, back to Solas. "What do I say? How do I convince a man who was traumatized by magic and probably still has issues with mages that castrating Templars- his former men-at-arms…is a good idea? He'll be here as soon as Leliana can catch him and as soon as he can drop everything and come over."

"You do not have an argument already?" he asks.

I turn and pull one leg up on the bed, letting the other hang off the side so my foot can touch the floor. I clasp my hands over my knee and rest my cheek on my thigh, "I have arguments. But in my experience, men in power tend to…talk over you, if you don't make a good point right off the bat…and I tend to…meander."

He sort of mirrors my pose, but his leg on the bed is curled under him. "What are your argument points?"

"Well, that would depend on his reaction to the idea," I answer with a grimace. "I have to approach him differently depending on his thoughts on it. If I'm too powerful in my convictions, I could make him defensive if he was on the fence. But if he's in favor of the idea, then being too wishy-washy could make him hesitate and doubt my own judgement, therefore his own. So I have to wait to see what he'll say first, when I tell him. Or what he looks like when he walks in."

Which is the exact moment he chooses to knock on the door, of course.

Solas and I both stand up at the same moment and look at each other, a little startled. I almost smack myself in the face, "Solas, you're not a servant, sit down."

He sighs, "it would be best if you had this discussion alone-"

I reach out and grasp his arm for a moment and look him in the eye from a whole half-head height below him. "Solas, please don't leave me, a small and defenseless woman- alone with a large man with a sword."

I mean, I don't think Cullen would hurt me.

I didn't think Solas would actually try and destroy the world either, though.

His lips part and he seems flabbergasted, but then he tilts his head, "do you imagine a mage will be much help against a Templar?"

"I imagine the two of us would be better than one or the other alone," I say.

His eyes dart away and then back to me.

The door is knocked on, again, "Lady Arbiter, are you in there?"

He sighs and nods, sitting back on the bed, "it will be up to you to explain my presence, Lady Arbiter."

I turn on my heel and walk over, opening the door, "Cullen?" I smile, swallowing down my nervousness. "Come in. I hope you don't mind if Solas heals me while we talk," I say.

He blinks a little rapidly as I step back to allow him entrance, "I- no, I don't…are you still injured? You seemed well this morning."

"I can walk and talk for a while, without feeling too much…" I gesture at myself. "Well. I'm constantly in pain at the moment and everything aches, but I can still function, sorta. So…" I shrug.

He nods, "ah…what was it you wished to discuss?"

Leliana didn't give him a heads up, that's good. I can gauge his reaction for myself.

I walk back over to the bed and sit in front of Solas, who immediately gets back to work healing me. It's not even a farce, he actually needs to, so…not precisely lying about needing him here or anything.

I gesture him at the chair over by the desk and he walks over, dragging it toward me, but not too close.

"Cullen, I imagine you feel a kinship to Templars," I say. "Am I correct?"

"I suppose you could say that, yes," he responds and glances over my shoulder. Probably wary of talking about Templars with an apostate in the room.

"Do you hold them to a standard, or do you believe they should do as they like?" I ask.

He clears his throat, "of course there should be, there is…a standard. A few bad eggs don't adhere to it, but…there is."

"And when those bad eggs don't adhere to the rules, what happens to them?" I ask curiously.

Cullen shifts on the seat and settles into a more comfortable pose, hands on his thighs, leaning slightly forward. "Well. It would depend. It could be anything from…running laps around the Circle Tower's walls, to…perhaps even being flogged."

"And the punishment for harming a mage in their care?" I ask.

He hems and haws, "well. That was…usually…"

"Something quite mild, I expect," Solas says softly from behind me. "If there was any punishment at all."

I hum in agreement.

The blonde commander sighs, "yes. Unfortunately…there was nothing I could do about that."

"Well you can now, can you not?" I ask.

He smiles wryly, "you are the Arbiter of Justice, and as such that is your purview."

"I realize that," I respond and sigh a little at the way all the kinks are suddenly disappearing from my back. Is he running out of things to heal? "But you are aware I would need your support of whatever punishments there were to be had? Former Knight-Commander and all?"

He coughs and clears his throat again, turning a little pink, "I suppose."

"I need to ask you a very important question, then, Cullen," I say.

He looks up and catches my eyes, "yes?"

"What would your punishment be, for any man who put his hands on a woman, or vice versa- without their express permission? In fact, with their express denial of contact?" I ask.

His lips purse, "I don't know. What does the Maker's Law state about that?" he asks. "I know the Chant, but I wonder how you would interpret it for that."

"All men are the work of our Maker's hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of his children are hated and accursed by the Maker," I say.

His lips purse, "there is often call for redemption."

"There's really not," I respond flatly. "The Chant of Light only says that people who decide to do better are redeemed, not that they should be redeemed by others. It's that person's responsibility to learn what they've done wrong and fix it- to not do the horrible thing in the first place."

He sighs heavily, "and?"

"And that would mean we would have full rights to kill them all," I comment and raise a brow at the way he looks away with tight lips. "But most would find that harsh, wouldn't they? Regardless of the damage they've done, they'd want us to find something proportionate to the crime."

He thinks for a moment, then nods. "What did you have in mind?" the tone of his voice is so…expectant.

"Removing their ability to do it again, then employing them as assistants, like the Tranquil," I reply. "Have them work off the fees of tending to the women they hurt- and we will collect whatever fee from their wages is necessary to support the woman they hurt and any children that may have been begotten from the union for as long as it takes the woman to find a husband or get a job that can support her. If the woman has a husband and/or a job, a fee will still be extracted to supplement her income while she recovers from the trauma dealt to her. Or him."

I default to feminine pronouns when discussing rape, but it does happen to men. I have to keep checking myself.

"Removing…" he looks at me with a slowly dawning horror in his eyes. "You want…to make them eunuchs?" Breathless, kind of horrified.

"Why does that frighten you, Cullen?" I ask and tilt my head, blinking at him. "It would just remove their ability to feel a certain range of emotion. It's no different from tranquilizing someone- well, no it is." I hum, "after all, only one thing is stolen from those who are castrated- tranquilizing a person takes away everything."

Cullen's jaw is locked tightly as he glares at the floor of the cabin. "I understand," he says.

"Do I have your support?" I ask.

He lifts his head, "I will stand behind you, Arbiter. I will not like it."

"And why is that?" I ask.

"It's barbaric!" he exclaims.

"As barbaric as shoving yourself inside of a woman who's screaming for you to stop?" I ask, placidly.

There's that fucking wiggle again, the fuck!

He goes pale, "it…you don't know for certain that it would stop them or that they aren't being fals-"

"Castration won't stop a man from harming a woman, but it will rob him of the ability to repeat the same crime and deter him from doing anything like it again," I say. "Mostly because every other crime will have its own proportional punishment. And wrongful accusations don't happen all that often, do you know why?"

He inhales slowly, "why?" and sighs the question tiredly.

"Because women who accuse men of rape are vilified. Men who accuse women of rape are made fun of," there is absolutely sexism everywhere in Thedas. Everyone thinks that because a woman is like the Pope and women run the Chantry that that means women must be respected. "Quite frankly, people who are raped are often more terrified of admitting to being raped than the rape itself."

Andraste was the Maker's lust object in the stories. He tried to entice her to be unfaithful to her husband. Who was an asshole anyway, but still. She's treated as a precious, innocent cinnamon roll with the power to turn the Maker's head. That's it.

The Slave rebellions? No one cares.

She's the Maker's bride, that's what makes her special to them.

I lick my lips and sigh, "and there is evidence that can be collected after the woman has been assaulted. Other bodily fluids work just as well for phylactery's even if they're not blood, yes?"

He looks a bit sick now, "yes…I suppose."

"Cullen. Women are all the same as Andraste," I say. "We are all the Maker's children and just as precious to him as the next of us. If this happened to Andraste, if you were charged with punishing the man to do it, what would be your punishment?" The Canticles say so, at least. The least of his children and all, right?

And he looks away, because we both know he'd chop the fucker's head off.

Since men usually need an example a bit closer to home to be decent, I also add, "or your mother."

He looks at me with wide, horrified eyes, "what?"

"Your mother, your sisters, if you have them-" I know he does, but he doesn't know I know that, yet. "Your aunts, cousins who are women…. Do you imagine a man has never harassed them in their lives?" I say. "They'd be human, and as such less likely to be so. That doesn't mean it wouldn't be possible. Wouldn't it be good to have one more deterrent for anyone to threaten them? And people like them?"

It's like I've reached inside his gut and swirled his insides around.

Men always need a personal connection to understand. It's…ugh. Because they see women walking around on the street and instead of thinking 'people' they think 'belongs to some other man in some way'. They aren't just…people. They're mothers of young sons, wives, sisters of young boys… I really wish I didn't have to go there, just to really drive the point home.


	32. Chapter 32

After the Chantry service, the rapists- Templar and otherwise -are attended to by surgeons. Even the one woman who was taken in for the crime is being operated on, though she seemed smug at first that there was nothing I could remove from her to make her incapable of rape- and therefore that she would escape any punishment at all…

And then I explained that a woman's reproductive organs could be removed to decrease sex drive and she was screaming louder than the men were.

Might not stop her, but it'd deter her, and it'd be the same kind of bodily violation she'd pushed on someone else. Which is one of the reasons why I'm doing it all surgically instead of chemically. I'm sure I could figure out some way to make a chemical castration serum with the healers and surgeons around- and knowing where you can get progesterone and that animals produce it too…

But that might have long-term harmful effects to their health. This is just kind of traumatizing to the point I hope they'll get the message and quit trying to hurt people. If they don't, there are other punishments for other crimes.

There are screams before the sleeping powders and runes can be used to put them out- but they don't go much further than the Chantry itself and everyone left in a long procession, earlier.

"You are not regretting," Leliana walks over to where I'm sitting at the top of the steps leading down to the dungeon and takes a seat beside me, blocking the way to and from the dungeon pretty effectively. We'll have to move for anyone coming through. "So why are you sitting here?"

"I wanted to watch," I reply. "I shouldn't be asking people to do things that I can't at least be in the room for, let alone…do myself. I mean, I could learn to do this-"

"It is admirable to realize the gravity of your choices, but knowing how to do this or watching, will make no difference," she says.

"It would to me," I murmur.

"You are more worried for the surgeons having to perform the surgery than about the people under the knife," she observes. "You asked for volunteers. I thought nothing of it before. But you wouldn't order someone down there to do this if they didn't want to be here, would you?"

"Do you think I'm weak?" I ask, curious.

She chuckles a bit, crossing her arms and leaning on her thighs, perched perfectly on that first step, feet planted solidly on the third. "I think many other people will think you weak. And that will be a mistake they may or may not live to regret making."

I shrug, "so…why are you so…" I gesture helplessly, "willing to go along with me?"

She smiles and the firelight from the sconces behind us make her eyes glimmer, "you are attempting to do something very difficult, and you need support. And I believe the Maker has a plan for everything. You were saved for a reason, so I believe. So I help you."

Leliana's more liberal than anyone else I've met in Thedas aside from maybe Zevran, Varric and Solas. Though calling Solas liberal might be a stretch.

This is something she wants, if she can get it through using me as a symbol- she's going to go for it.

I purse my lips, "I'm not a puppet. That role suits me poorly. If you need me to do something, you tell me. If you need me to say something, you tell me. If you corner me or try to force me into something, I may simply run off and do something different just to show I can."

She looks at me and inclines her head, "a puppet would be useless in this situation. They look pretty but they have none of the fortitude necessary to forge on beyond all doubt."

"Speaking of 'pretty'," I say, grinning. "Have I told you how much I love your hair?"

There's a surprised laugh and then she nudges me with her legs, "oh stop. It's so horrid!"

"Horrid!" I exclaim with disbelief. "I'll have you know that artists love depicting redheads because they _pop_. You. Are a work of art, _Cher_."

She purses her lips and smiles at me, "I would much prefer to have something less noticeable."

"Spymaster, right," I nod.

We grin at each other…and then the mirth slowly leeches out of the moment, and we're once again Arbiter Nik and the Nightingale.

"Cullen isn't going to like the restrictions we will place on the Templars," Leliana says. "And Cassandra is already upset at the talk of allowing other altars and worship in Haven, as well as the ban keeping the Templars from the Chantry."

The Templars were complaining that Mages have too much freedom in Haven, so I made up some rules for everyone to follow in Haven. Laws of the Maker are laws basically divined from the Chant of light. Laws of Haven are more extrapolated and less direct interpretation of the Chant and more just…laws.

I have laws that pertain directly to Mages and Templars both.

I sigh, "yeah."

"You will have to convince both of them it's for the best before we can begin enforcing them," she says.

I nod, "mmhm."

"Cassandra is in the War Room right now," she mentions. "Cullen is tending to his troops."

"Cullen and I have clashed enough for one day. Can you handle him if I tackle Cassandra?" I ask and then give her puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

She smirks, "you were buttering me up."

"Untrue," I declare with a smile, "but since you're all buttered already…"

She laughs again and shoves my shoulder, standing and slipping back into the Chantry.

I push myself to my feet and follow her.

She veers off toward the doors, "I will speak with Cullen. I make no guarantees, but I will do my best to convince him."

"Use his own rhetoric against him," I recommend.

She stops and turns back to look at me, tilting her head inquisitively.

"About how mages are dangerous and should be minded for everyone's own good. Templars are dangerous too," I say.

Her lips pull into a mischievous little grin, "indeed they are."

And then we're turning and walking off in opposite directions. Her out the Chantry, me into its innermost sanctum.

Cassandra is glaring at the War Table when I walk in, so…not off to a great start, possibly.

"Somethin' bothering you, Cass?" I ask as I drift over to the other side of the table, opposite her.

She looks up and her eyes intensify, "why have the Templars been banned from the Chantry?"

"Official reason or real reason?" I ask, lifting a brow.

Her entire body goes tense, "real reason."

"Because the mages have never been allowed inside," I reply. "And now that they finally are, because I've welcomed them in- I don't want them to be afraid while they're here."

"They would not have to be here at the same time," she returns with a little furrow in her brow.

"Are we making appointments, Cassandra?" I ask. "Templars would hang around the Chantry looming over everyone all day if you let them in. They did it before they were banned. Leering and looming and being general assholes. So until they can act civilized, they aren't allowed in."

"How do you expect them to learn to behave civilized if you take away their house of worship?" she asks. "This is where the Templars might find compassion for others and remember their duty."

"Their compassion didn't stop them from creepily making advances on women in the Chantry who were just here to pray," I deadpan. "I got so many complaints- on my first day- about the Templars making those kinds of advances and being menacing if the woman seemed reluctant to speak to them."

She huffs and crosses her arms, "so a few have ruined it for the rest."

"No, not really," I shrug. "They have the option to come in without their armor and sword. They just refuse. Because you see, it's not about worship for them," I cross my own arms. "It's about using the Chantry and the authority granted to them by it to terrorize."

She sighs, "how can I convince you to let them return?"

"Convince me?" I ask. Honestly perplexed.

"Don't play coy," she says and paces, "I hate that. We both know that this is a bargaining position for you. So, what do you want?"

Oh Cass, you made a calculated error. "One? That my rule stays in place. They take off their armor, their swords, they can come in for mass. Two? That I can put shrines and altars outside Haven where other people who worship differently can go. You already knew that. But I suppose you want me to completely remove any restrictions on the Templars whatsoever so they can come and go as they like- alright Cassandra. And who will protect the people from them?"

That stops her short a little, I can see it. "I…the Templars-"

"They aren't what they were meant to be, Cass, you know that." I lean back against the wall behind me and sigh, "if you want to take charge of them while they're in the Chantry, watch them and chaperon them, that'd be fine. But you're too busy for that, aren't you? Who else would you trust to watch them and keep them in line and wouldn't let even the slightest misbehavior slip…who isn't already as busy as you are, due to running the Inquisition?"

She subsides into thoughtful silence, staring at a Chantry sun tapestry.

It was kind of just…well. I didn't get asked to join the Inquisition. Everyone just kinda started talking about it like it was happening and like of course I would be joining. Of course I would be helping.

I've chosen to take it as a vote of confidence. 'Of course she'll want to save the world,' type thing.

It still chafes me, though.

"If you will allow me to…" she falters. "If you will lift the ban for the midday meal so that the Templars might come in, in armor and with their swords- I will not object to the altars and other…worship." She says it so….irritably. "Everyone who wishes to avoid them then, will know when to leave."

"Fine, Cass, but if any of them harass anyone in the Chantry- you're the one who'll take responsibility," I say.

Her head dips in a grim nod, mouth a flat line, "I will."


	33. Chapter 33

Cullen and Cassandra are supporting all my new rules and punishments, but that doesn't mean they approve, I know that.

Cullen is still iffy about the whole castration thing. Cassandra's still as huffy about other people allowed to worship some other god besides the Maker as you'd expect.

And today…

"I really must object," Cullen's followed me out to the stables. "Having the Templars watched like this is-"

"As unfair as having a Mage watched their entire life, every second of their life?" I ask nonchalantly as I try to get a horse to take a carrot from me.

These horses hate the mark, they keep shying away and I can't get one to even sniff me, let alone let me ride it. I used to be good with animals, damn it.

"That's different and you know it," he says.

"I don't know Cullen, explain it to me," I turn to give him a look that I'm sure is very unnerving. People hate it when my eyes go dead and flat.

I can see him shiver a little, and yeah that's the usual reaction. "Mages are dangerous."

"Mages?" I ask with a funny little smile on my face. "I'm not a mage, and therefore am not dangerous?"

He scoffs, "magic is dangerous."

"Uncontrolled magic is dangerous, controlled magic only when the wielder wishes it," I tilt my head at him. "Why do you think mages want to hurt you, Cullen?"

He sighs hard through his nose in exasperation, "it isn't personal, they simply have a hunger for power. Tevinter is a-"

"Don't use Tevinter as an example, we aren't in Tevinter," I state patiently. "And Tevinter is a horrible place because of slavery, not because the people in charge are mages." There's other issues, but those would be there with or without magic. So the point still stands.

"Slavery exists in Tevinter because the mages enslaved the non-mages in their country!" he says. Like it's a gotcha.

I gesture him closer and lean in close to whisper when he's close enough, "there are mage-slaves too, Cullen."

His brows furrow and he shakes his head, "the mages run the country, why would they have mage slaves?"

"Cullen," I drawl, "people who enslave others will divide the people they believe beneath them into many different categories. Foreigners, the poor, those of other races, those without magic and those with only a small amount of magic. Or perhaps those who are magical and powerful but aren't from a prominent family. All these people can be slaves in Tevinter. It has nothing to do with magic. Magic is just the power they have. If they didn't, they'd use something else."

"We don't have slaves," he says.

I snort, "you don't call it slavery, that doesn't mean it isn't." I respond. "How many people do you think, in Ferelden, get away with feeding their servants when they work, but not paying them?" I ask and give him a sideways look. "Probably a lot, right? What's that sound like to you?"

"They could just leave," he says.

"And go where?" I ask, tossing the carrot into the corral and walking away from it with Cullen following me as I walk back toward the front gates of Haven. "To another Noble family that might be worse? I mean, this one pays you, but they smack you around a lot. This one doesn't pay you, they feed you, but they don't beat you, usually. Which one would you pick?"

He huffs and stalks off toward the training area, and-

As I turn around, I notice eyes on me.

It's not any one person, really. People glance at me all the time…

But a lot of the eyes are Elven…

Hm.

I bite my lip and walk into Haven with an idea forming in my head, but…no.

His agents wouldn't just be out in the open like that, would they? Then again, gawking is commonly acceptable behavior when you're looking at someone big and important, and ever since the explosion- I've been kind of big and important. It'd only be expected that they'd watch me, so it could be-

"I've heard you are putting the rioters to work," Solas just- fuckin' appears.

I jump a foot in the air, leaping sideways and clutching the side of a hut, staring at him with wide eyes.

He stares back, caught in mid-motion, and then his lips twitch.

"Don't you dare," I huff and stand up straight, smoothing down my clothes and hair that got mussed in my mad leap away from him, "laugh at me."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, chuckling.

"Asshole," I sigh. "Freaking ninjas, everywhere…"

"What does that mean?" he asks as we continue walking. Me leading the way toward Varric's area and Solas keeping pace with me. "I've heard you mutter it at Master Tethras and the Lady Nightingale as well."

I pause in my stride and blink, glancing over at him. "What, ninja? Oh. It's…a thing from back home. An old rogue-type discipline. Smoke bombs, silent footsteps, silent death…"

"Ah. So it is another word for assassin," he says. He stopped almost exactly as I did. This guy pays fuckin' attention to whatever he's doing. It's…like…fuck. I don't pay that much attention to what I'm doing and sometimes I'm doing important shit.

"Sorta…" I shrug. "You…were saying something, when you scared the shit outta me."

He huffs and chuckles, "yes I was. I heard the rioters punishment had been decided, and when I asked, Lady Nightingale informed me that you were putting them to work."

"It's a work-release. It's more like…they're being employed, fed and provided for…but also part of their paycheck will go to paying for all the supplies we used up to heal the injured servants- you remember how many jars of poultice we went through, treating everyone in the cabin once the magic ran out?"

He nods, "you would have them paying for the collective price of those items, or…?"

"Yes. As well as paying to replace the wagons they blew up," I roll my eyes. "A fucking mage caused an explosion right after this mess happened-" I lift my left hand and gesture at it. "So of course I had to fucking talk Cassandra and Cullen down on imprisoning them. Imprisonment shouldn't be a thing, not unless, like…there's no other option."

"No other option?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows.

"You know what a terrorist is?" I ask.

He dips his head in a nod, "what about them?"

"Killing them, makes them a martyr," I explain. "So if you can't kill them and they refuse to go through the work program, imprisonment would be the last option. You can't just let a terrorist go to keep killing and terrorizing people, but you also can't give them what they want in death, either…it's a mess. I mean sure, I'd try to be as humane as possible-" I grimace and shrug, "but I don't like thinking about that kind of thing, let alone doing it."

He hums, "there is another option."

"Beyond rehabilitation, death and imprisonment?" I ask, quirking a brow. "Alright, I'm intrigued, what?"

"I saw memories of something once," he says. "I found it to be somewhat…distasteful. But it would not count as either imprisonment or death and would be a type of…rehabilitation, I believe. There was a terrible man, a bandit…I believe," he flicks his eyes away and narrows them at the ground, seeming to remember or at least try to filter it so I can understand it. "A spirit of…Retribution, perhaps? Took away his memories."

"Well yeah, but you might as well kill them," I shrug. "You're stealing everything that they are. I mean, it'd be a better solution than that, sure…just doesn't seem all that…removed."

"It isn't," he says. Smiling that plastic smile again. He keeps doing that, "only a suggestion."

I decide to fuck with him a little, "you know the Ben Hassrath do that."

He goes still, "oh?"

"Yup. They use a bunch of chemicals to fuck with their people's brains, the re-educators?" I smile. "How do you know what a Ben Hassrath is, Solas?"

His eyes flick up to catch on mine, "is that not well-known?"

Not an answer.

"Not by the general populace," I shrug. "Then again, you travel a lot. And Arisala doesn't seem to bother you. You've probably met Tal'Vashoth and Vashoth before."

He eyes me speculatively, "I have."

"As to your concerns," I tilt my head and grin a little. "No, they won't be treated like slaves and they won't be beaten for refusing to work."

"I didn't-" his eyes narrow and his ears flick back.

"No. You didn't," I say and sweep past him. "I've gotta talk to Varric. See you later for healing?"

I can hear him hum an affirmative as I leave. A distracted sort of noise, and I can already hear his brain whirring.


	34. Chapter 34

I walk into Josephine's office and stop in surprise. "Uh…am I interrupting something?"

She grins brightly at me from the sofa off to the side, where a whole tea set is set up, and gestures to me. "Come, come in! I must see what your etiquette is like, we must present a dignified face to the world. If you are-"

"Josephine, if you want me to play Noble, I can do that," I speak in a lower register than usual. My voice tends to be high-pitched unless I consciously choose to speak differently. It's…well, I've been told my voice could soothe people to sleep like this, I dunno if that's a compliment or not, but… "There are a few things I must discuss with you, and I would be willing to do so while playing the part. We can discuss any issues in my manners, after you've seen them, yes?"

She stares at me wide-eyed through the first part, but quickly smiles and gestures me over with a nod. "Yes, of course. What is it you wished to discuss? Tea?"

"Yes, _please_ ," I add a charming curl to the plea and smile with the unscarred side of my mouth. I'm going for sweet, not scary. That scar tends to make me look like I'm half-smiling all the time so I just have to focus on tipping the other side up to match it. "Four sugars. And I'd like to discuss Varric and Solas."

"Oh, they are both quite charming in their own way, yes?" she says with real enthusiasm. "They both have _excellent_ stories, though…Solas is a bit more cautious about sharing his."

"Is he?" huh. I guess he would be, at the beginning. "Well. I was actually hoping we could give them official positions, in the Inquisition. With titles and everything," I say.

She blinks and hands me my tea, "why would that be necessary?"

"They're nonhumans, Josephine," I reply. "Even with his skills in Magic, Solas is vulnerable to attack of many kinds. And Varric, as skilled as he is with his crossbow…and as famous as he is…" I sigh. "We don't have to throw them a parade or anything, I just want them formally recognized for their contributions. Why is that strange?"

I've started talking with a slight lilt to my speech, not quite a Ferelden accent or an Orlesian one, somewhere in the middle. Something sweet and pleasing to the ear.

Josephine hides her surprise at that new feature of my persona well. She merely sips her tea and takes a deep breath. "Well…I suppose that would be possible. After all, to attack Solas would be to attack the only person who can attend to…your malady," she says. "And Varric has donated quite a bit of coin to us."

"They're also intending to stick it out for the long haul, to seal the Breach…at least," I say. "And if they're part of the inner circle, an insult to them is an insult to us, yes?" I quirk my brow.

I take the teacup in hand the same way Josephine did and sip from it, silently and daintily.

Her eyes sparkle, "and of course…we needn't inform anyone before they make some sort of infraction."

"Breaking etiquette and insulting the hosts is…" I click my tongue, "quite serious isn't it?"

"In Orlais it could be grounds for a duel," she informs me, smiling prettily. "What positions were you thinking?"

"I was hoping Varric would like to work with Leliana, a civilian spymaster of sorts. He employs different types than she does, does he not?" I say with a wrinkle to my nose and a smile. An expression many people find charming on anyone.

"I believe that could be arranged," she inclines her head. "And Solas?"

"Arcane Advisor, of course," I respond.

She pauses at that and tilts her head at me. "That is…a prominent title."

"Is it?" I ask, lifting my eyebrows. "Well, what kind of message would _that_ send?" Everything has to be political- especially seeing as I haven't seen the full range of his abilities yet, so if I just insisted he was overqualified for the job…well. No one would believe me until much later on.

Her lips curl, "and imagine their surprise when they assume such…nasty things about why he was appointed…and decide to speak to him."

"And he talks circles around them," I say, my own mouth quirking up- my scar probably twisting my mouth up into a Chesire grin of sorts on one side. "We would need to ask both of them, first. But I want to give them the option."

She nods, "I will see to it personally. I believe I can convince them."

"Just be sure not to push," I respond. "It has to be their choice."

Josephine smiles, "of course, Lady Arbiter."

"I just came from speaking to Varric, in fact," I say with a light hum. "The Crossroads should receive some supplies in the next day or so. Please let me know how that goes."

She smiles brighter, "of course. If Messere Tethras can keep getting supplies through, that is much more valuable than any contribution of coin could be. He has earned the station we wish to give him, don't you agree?"

"Absolutely. Now…I know very sparse amounts of the other languages in Thedas…" I say. "You said I must learn to at least converse in a limited fashion. How limited?"

"Enough to speak of the weather, to know when you are being complimented…or insulted…and of course enough to compliment or insult in return," she says.

"Right…and I think I could trade you for your time," I say.

She grins, "how is that?"

"You know any Elvhen?" I ask.

I actually went around and surreptitiously listened to some former Dalish Scouts talking to each other to make sure the Elvhen words I knew were actually Elvhen. Turns out they are, somehow.

She sits up a bit straighter, "I know how to welcome someone, but not…anything else, no."

" _Andaran Atishan_ ," I say. "It's basically 'be welcome in this place of peace' or 'this place of safety' or even 'this place of mine', I think?"

"Oh…" she sighs, "that's so beautiful."

"Elvhen is a language of intent and emotion," I tell her. "I can teach you a handful of words and how to react to them and how they're said."

"Yes, please!" she says eagerly.

"If someone refers to you as ' _Falon_ ' you should be flattered. The tone is important, it could be said sarcastically, after all. But if they tack it on like a term of endearment, it is a very high compliment. It means 'friend' but it implies a closeness," I tell her.

She nods eagerly and reaches over to grab her notes on the table next to the tea, "tell me more!"


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Am I better at illustrating the things she does this time around?

After seeing Josephine, I headed over to Adan's hut to check on his progress on a special project.

"It's enough for now, to start testing, but it likely won't be much of a help," Adan says. "The amount of Lyrium is likely too low to do anything for him."

"He can decide how much is enough," I reply. "You'll be keeping an eye on him when he comes in for refills, so you should know just by how he looks when he walks in, whether he needs a higher dosage or not."

He grunts in answer, "this is a good thing. I know a lot of those bucket-brained idiots who want off of the stuff but are afraid to quit."

"Yeah I kinda figured there might be a few of those," I respond with a slight smile. "Have you figured out those other things?"

"The notes you found were invaluable, yes," he nods and cracks a smile himself. "As for your other request…I'm not certain I can refine the formula any further than it has been."

"There's got to be something we can add to it, even something extremely rare and expensive?" I ask.

"Perhaps, but I'd have to be able to get my hands on it, first," he says. Shrugging and as dismayed as I am. "The mixture is serviceable as it is."

"Serviceable but not quite as effective as it could be," I respond. "Well…if the contraceptive tea can't be improved, what about the potion for afterwards?"

They have like, plan b, already. In Thedas.

"It's effective enough- any more, you'd be risking the woman's health," he says.

I nod, "Okay…well, have we got treatments for every STD we know about?"

"I asked around and I've compiled all the recipes, but haven't had the chance to tool around with them just yet," he says. "Should have a working inventory in a few days, though. If no one blows up anything else and Haven stays relatively calm, anyway…"

"Thank you for doing all of this, I know you're not really an Apothecary," I say, grinning. "As soon as we get a real expert Apothecary, you can go back to just making grenades and shit, yeah?"

He laughs, "I can't wait. Here's the vial, your Worship."

I falter as I take the vial from his hand and shove it in my pocket. "I…what?"

"You haven't heard?" he asks with surprise. "People've been calling you the Herald of Andraste."

I blink, "oh."

I didn't think that'd started yet.

"Well, tell him to take a mouthful every morning and report to me when the vial's empty in five days," he says.

I hum distractedly and walk out of Adan's hut with my head spinning.

I'm not really the type who revels in the worship and adulation of others. If I were, I'd probably be the wrong kind of person to receive that kind of attention.

The last fingertips of light disappear over the horizon as I make my way through Haven and out into the Soldier's clearing.

Have to get this to Cullen before tomorrow morning, after all. I could just hand it to him in the morning, but I think he'd want privacy for this and in the morning he'd likely be too busy to-

"Cullen, I need you to test something for me!" I walk into his tent and pause when I see him.

He was leaning over on his cot, rubbing his head with his fingers- but he shoots up to his feet as soon as I walk in. "Ah, Arbiter. What…?" He's in pajamas, I think. I didn't know it was that close to bed time, but the sun has set, after all.

"I wanted to help the Templars experiencing Lyrium Withdrawal," I say and look him over. "Are you?"

I'm not supposed to know he is and asking for confirmation isn't a denial that you already know…

"I…a bit, it's not a problem," he waves it off. "What do you mean, 'help' them? I was under the impression you hated Templars."

"I do," I respond. "The Templars are an oppressive institution. But people in armor are people in armor. They're still people, and they still deserve a basic level of care. Do you disagree?"

He clears his throat, "no, of course not. What were you thinking…to help?"

"This," I fish the vial out of my pocket and hold it up. "It's something I had Adan make for me, but I'm not sure if the formula is right, yet."

The vial is filled with milky white liquid with a bluish shimmer to it.

He narrows his eyes at it, "that has Lyrium in it, I can feel it."

"A pinch," I nod. "It's just enough to take the edge off- or it will be, once we figure out what the right amount for you is. Then we'll slowly reduce the amount of Lyrium, until all that's left is the nutrient solution. I'm hoping to cut down on the pain, the stress and the chance of death and psychotic breaks."

He puts a hand over his mouth and rubs it with his palm.

He looks so different in normal clothes. Still like Cullen, but smaller and more normal, too. Dark bags under his eyes, hair in disarray.

I romanced him once. It was a mistake, but…well…at the time I didn't think I had another option. I mean, I romanced Dorian too, but I felt a disconnect there, as…well. I'm not picky about my gender, but some days it's easier to identify with male avatars and some days it's easier to just pick the more feminine form.

And then there was Solas and…well…I never looked back at Cullen once. I still can't. He's just…there's nothing there.

"You can say no," I say. "I just wanted to give you the chance to help, but we can get another Templar, if you'd prefer?"

"No, I can…" he sighs. "I swore to never touch another Vial of Lyrium again, " he admits.

"You won't be. This isn't a vial of Lyrium," I hold it up and wiggle it a little, smiling. "It's a vial of medicine that just happens to contain a small amount of it. That's all."

He nods, "I suppose. But if I…"

"If you fall off the wagon, we can just help you right back onto it, Cullen," I smile a little nicer. "We argue, but we're a team. I'm here to help, in any way I can."

He swallows and I think he's blushing, "I…yes. Thank you."

He doesn't do so well with earnest declarations of support, apparently.

"Well, here," I walk over and hand him the vial.

He takes it, "just…drink it?"

"Yes. A small mouthful every morning for five days, then tell Adan how it makes you feel. Maybe write any odd sensations or anything down- put your pain on a number. On a scale from one to ten and then compare it to the number afterwards."

"What do the numbers mean?" he asks, "is…is ten when it's so bad I can't get out of bed or that it's killed me?"

"Well, let's establish that now, huh?" I grin.


	36. Chapter 36

"You wanted to speak with me?" I sigh and slouch in my seat.

Facing an entire legion of 'sisters', 'mothers' and a handful of 'brothers' here and there…yeah, no need to put on airs.

"I will remind the Clerics that these proceedings are voluntary and as such, the rights to them can be revoked at any point in time," Josephine says, standing before one line of pews.

Leliana is in front of the other, and I'm here, in the middle, talking to the Clerics that were chosen to speak for the rest.

Which means Roderick and two Mothers. Neither of which I recognize. A lot of people left the Temple before it blew because the Divine wanted to speak to someone alone.

Someone who was likely a Gray Warden and that's why she trusted him and let him in and sent her people away.

"We are not here to speak with the criminal," Roderick says. "We are here to discuss why you have not arrested her!"

"Do you have evidence of wrongdoing?" I ask in a very businesslike tone.

"It's right there in your hand!" one of the mother's snaps, pointing at the mark. "Malicious magic!"

"Oh yes, this thing," I hold up my hand and stare at them dispassionately, "this thing which pains me and nearly killed me. Of course there could be no other explanations, I _must_ be guilty." I drop my hand and flick my fingers at them dismissively, "it's not like it could've been forced on me, or that it could've chosen me as a host completely of its own volition- as magic sometimes does," I know they have stories of spirit objects, I've read them, down in the library. "You're working off a biased hypothesis."

"Whether you put it there or not, it is dangerous," says the other mother. "You must be quarantined, for the safety of the people."

"You know, I could agree with you, but in this instance," I stand up and stretch my arms above my head, dropping my arms and groaning when my back cracks. "The mark is under control, I have someone who knows how to keep it that way and there's shit to be done. What reason do I have to quarantine myself if I haven't hurt anyone since I woke up with this thing in my hand?" I snort and roll my eyes, "well, no one other than myself, stopping the spread of the Breach and sealing Rifts. You know, to save lives."

It baffles me, how they know I kept the world from ripping itself apart any further, almost died doing so- and yet can think I'm still responsible. At least if I'd been responsible, I'd know how to use the mark better and wouldn't need someone like Solas to keep it under control.

Likewise, I probably would've made it more convenient to wield and less like I was getting hit by a train every time I sealed a rift. I mean, sure all of it could've been a huge mistake on my part- as it was mostly on Corypheus and Solas's parts but-

Well, I'm not a mage. And all my mages were saved. That must look even more suspicious to their biased minds, but how would I have gotten mages that weren't mine to do what I wanted?

"We are grateful that the Breach has stopped expanding," the first mother says with a disgusted little curl to her lip. Carefully _not_ thanking me at all, "but now we must contain the danger."

"The danger's contained," I deadpan. "The breach is literally just across the way. If I were going to explode anywhere, it should be where it's exploded already, yeah?"

"And if you _do_ explode, you will take us all with you," Roderick says.

I nod, "yup. Which is why I intend to move a good portion of our people to the Hinterlands at the first opportunity."

There's a silence at that. Ah, yeah.

I laugh, "you think I'm gonna deny that it's dangerous and I could possibly explode? I'm not. I'm creating a situation in which- if I do begin to destabilize, we'll have warning and bolt holes for people to go to. And just so you know, I have to be able to travel. So I can seal the rifts." I lift my hand and flicker my fingertips, making the light of the mark dance a bit. "If you want the world to slowly deteriorate and eventually be ripped apart once the Veil is no longer strong enough to maintain itself, you'd lock me up. Leaving me free gives me the agency necessary to save everyone."

"And why should we trust you to do anything?" Roderick asks. "When we are not certain of your innocence and when you blaspheme all of our beliefs!"

"Blaspheme?" I ask with a slowly spreading smile, eyes still flat. "You mean me, forcing you, to actually follow the Maker's Laws- instead of making you exempt of them, as you've always insisted you must be? I do wonder what the Maker would think of your twisting his doctrine to suit your own selfishness, you know?"

The mark flickers and snaps a little in the sudden silence of the room.

"You do not adhere to your own laws!" one of the sisters stands from one of the pews and crosses her arms. "You've harmed many people!"

I quirk a brow at her, "who specifically?"

She flushes bright red, "you've just had men maimed!"

"Rapists," I say and everyone in the Chantry seems to flinch simultaneously. "I had the rapists, castrated. And in the Chant of Light it very clearly states that harming the Maker's children is very bad. So I took away their instruments of torture and I'm putting them to work. For atonement." I smile and I feel like it's kind of terrifying because a bunch of people are looking at me like I just bared fangs at them. "And if you have a problem with that, you must also have a problem with making Mages Tranquil…why have you never cried out against that?"

"Mages are dangerous," one of the other sisters says in a very stricken voice. "Their magic is removed if they cannot handle it properly."

"What is the difference?" I ask, tilting my head and smiling benignly. "Between removing the weapon of magic and the weapon of rape?"

There's dead silence.

Roderick is steaming and turning red, so I think that won't last long.

"Thank you for your time," I sweep into Josephine's office before anyone can say anything else- but I hear them calling out for me to come back.

I hear Leliana, the Scouts and Josephine ushering them out of the Chantry.

And I hear the Chantry doors shut after them. But I'm numb, just a little bit. I might've been taught to talk to groups about controversial subjects- but it's still not easy for me.

We're traveling for the Hinterlands in the morning…and while I'm there I have to convince a Cult to disband and join the Inquisition, stop demon wolves and…just…a whole bunch of shit.

Ugh, how am I gonna handle all this?


	37. Chapter 37

The first night we set up camp away from Haven- toward the Crossroads, I take charge of dinner.

Not to say the servants aren't competent, they cook better than anyone else, I'm sure. They're the ones doing it all the time. I just have a lot of extra energy that I need to get rid of or it'll turn inward and I'll be stuck in a depressive spiral for a few hours- or possibly days.

My longest standing record for a continuous spiral is probably around a full year. Years of spiraling in-between mood swings…just remembering's horrifying.

"So, Lady Arbiter…" Varric segues as I stir the pot over the fire. "How'd you come to be at the Conclave?"

I blink and tilt my head at the sky, "I have no idea."

"Like…not even an inkling?" he asks. "Shit."

"My memory has…" I pause, wondering if this description would count as lying… "Well. The brain is built to forget things it doesn't like- except in the cases of things you can dwell endlessly on- regrets and mistakes, you know?"

An affirmative hum has me glancing over to the other side and then quickly away from Solas's pointed gaze.

"Well, anyway, the brain is built that way. But people like me, who've used that mechanism and several others for a long period of time, to forget things we couldn't deal with…well, sometimes it's harder to recover the information when your brain just up and decides, 'welp. This isn't good. Erase'. So I can remember a lot of things…but not traveling to the Conclave, or why I would've."

"Whatever it was…" Cassandra halts and flushes. "It would be in bad taste to say perhaps it was a good thing, wouldn't it?"

I stare at her for a second, "I…probably, to anyone else. For me- why?" I've always been under the impression that Cassandra didn't really think you were sent by the Maker until after you'd accomplished something big, like Redcliffe or Therinfal or…something.

"Who knows how much bigger the explosion could have been if you hadn't somehow…interrupted, whatever was happening," Cassandra struggles to say. "Or…who else may have died."

' _Regalyan, she's thinking of Regalyan. I saved him just by organizing a potluck and rushing people off to it. He was probably only saved by minutes_ ,' I think to myself and hum a little bit.

"Maybe. Maybe if I weren't here, someone else would've taken my place," there was no one else up there because I'd orchestrated it that way. Without me? Arisala, Dahlia, Vriella…any of them could've been the Herald instead.

"The Chosen of Andraste," Solas says, kind of startling me. "A blessed hero sent to save us all. That is what they are saying."

"One would think the Maker, Andraste or whoever else runs this damn universe would have more sense than to send me," I say. Hiding my intense discomfort with Solas speaking straight from the game script.

"Why do you say that?" Solas is looking at me too much, his damn eyes are too fucking…sharp.

"You've seen what I've done and how it's been received," I say, gesturing back towards Haven. "Someone else could probably do it subtler, without as much shouting and cursing. Me? I can't keep my fucking mouth shut when bad shit's happening." I sigh, "Dahlia would've been better at it, I think. That's why I go to her for advice so much. She knows how to…be less offensive while still doing the thing."

"Doing the thing?" Varric asks and chuckles, "you sound almost like Daisy sometimes, you know? Then you switch around and sound more like Rivaini, and then I can swear I can hear Hawke and Blondie talking through you."

"Maybe I'm an amalgam of them from the Fade," I flicker my fingertips, "ooooh."

Varric laughs, "you're somethin' else, Arbiter."

"This is a war," Solas says whimsically. "And every war has its heroes. Whether you consider yourself such or not, is unimportant. And posturing is necessary if you wish to accomplish your goals. So…how would you have the people of Thedas see you?"

I quirk a brown and look up at him, "it doesn't really matter how I want them to. They'll pick what they want to take from the stories about me and keep that, losing everything else. It's how history works."

He hums, "true enough. I suppose I am asking more, who will you _be_?"

I shrug, "I won't know that, until shit happens. Sometimes, all the planning in the world can't prepare you for something. Sometimes the plans make everything worse. I could plan to make everything better and end up only effecting a small amount of things…or nothing at all. I could make it worse by accident."

My eyes drift down to the broth and I stir it with a sigh. I can hear the others shifting around and kind of generally being uncomfortable with my answer.

So I smile, "broth's done." It's more of a mutter.

We're all too quiet.

"Hey Chuckles, you mentioned something before about memories, and you seem kinda into history…" Varric suddenly interjects. "What's that about?"

Solas looks at Varric with that plastic smile he wears to seem pleasant, "I…prefer to study the Fade, over all other things. And it is a good place to seek out the truth of history- or at least, an individual's truth. Rather than stories half-remembered and badly told."

"But how do you know the memories are true?" Cassandra asks. "If it is an individual's memory, it could be false."

"No," Solas shakes his head and then pauses, an actually genuine smile crinkling the edges of his eyes a little bit, "well yes. But not as you think. An individual will have experienced the same events as another, but from another angle, with different emotions and information. A stableboy in a fire will only know he was afraid, that he set the horses free. Everyone else living in the village may or may not know who set the fire and why. You will get many different sides to a story, but they are all true in their own ways."

"I'd imagine the flavor of spirit would affect how it's seen, though," I say without thinking and then shrink a little in on myself as his head turns to regard me with surprise and that weird approval he gets in his expression when you ask a particularly insightful question in-game. "I mean…spirits of despair would focus on the sad bits, spirits of rage would focus on the things that made the people there angry…"

"Yes, and that is part of the process of filtering out the emotional context and finding the unvarnished truth of things," he says with a lot more life in his expression than he's had in a while.

"How do you do that?" Varric asks curiously. "Just…go to sleep, or…?"

"It can be as simple as that, it is for me," he says. "Others drink lyrium or do rituals to strengthen their connection to the Fade to make it easier to slip across with full consciousness. There are ruins and battlefields, lost to time. These hold the best memories."

"You don't sleep there," Cassandra says, sounding horrified. "What about bandits and wild animals!?"

"I do set wards," he says. "And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live."

I snort, "usually."

He hums distractedly, "I have only once woken to my wards being tripped by a spider. Rather unpleasant to have them rain viscera all over you."

I bend over my lap laughing at that mental image.

Solas, sitting up on a bedroll, blinking blearily at the spider guts and goop now covering him from head to foot. Then likely flopping back down to go back to sleep after a distracted wave of his hand to set the wards back up. I can see it so clearly in my head.

When Varric asks me what's so funny- it was amusing but not that amusing.

So I explain my mental image and the look on Solas's face, the surprise and the embarrassment- "I…I did not go _right_ back to sleep."

I laughed so loud the Scouts drifted a little closer, curious about what was going on.

And then Varric retold the story. Meanwhile Solas just sighs at everyone laughing at him.

"Sorry," I'm still chuckling as we get bowls of broth and pass them around.

Solas blinks at me, "…was that directed at me? For what?"

"It's just, you're so…" I gesture at him. "I mean…and the image doesn't…" I snort a little bit. "You're so, 'dorky mage scholar' but also 'rustic mountain man' and I can't…" I giggle. "People normally pick one path or the other, so it's…"

"I can imagine," he says with a quirk to his mouth that is just…entirely unfair. Looking up at me from his bowl, head bowed so he's kind of looking up through his eyelashes a little. Not a lot, just enough to make me sigh and look away because god, I can't take it.


	38. Nik POV, Varric POV

The second night of the journey after a few stories from Varric, we all go to bed, full and warm in our heated tents. Thanks to my mages, of course- now all tents are heated if you'd like them to be. They're working out a rotation system to have them sent to and from Haven to be repaired and recharged every few days or so, so no one has to sleep cold or wet.

I'm still working on a way to streamline that process, but for now, people are seeing how invaluable mages and magic can be.

Then, in the middle of the night, I get up and have to pace. I'm stricken with insomnia sometimes, but that's usually when I can't sleep, not when I've been to sleep and then have to wake up- that's never happened to me before.

And then my find-it sense goes off, which is just this weird jerking in my…spiritual awareness? It's something that I could never ignore.

I used to find grandma's keys, lost dogs that my family'd scour the whole place for and I'd find in like, two minutes…

So I usually don't ignore my find-it sense.

And since I'm half-awake as I go stumbling through the woods, I don't really realize what danger I'm in. Not even after I've been walking a while, and it is a while.

I even forget what I'm doing a couple times and stop to blink uselessly at tree bark a couple times before I can feel the tugging again.

I'm groggy, achy and a little irritable when I walk into the clearing- where a bunch of Dalish elves seem to be fighting demons being spat out of a rift.

Because why not.

"You shouldn't be here, _Shemlen_ ," a woman with a bow, a Dalish elf- she appears out of the nearby trees with her bow drawn and pointed down. "We're getting out of here as it is, as soon as we can get these demons dead." Then she turns and fires into the clearing and the arrows glow and split into many to strike down the shades and wraiths still left.

I wonder why she isn't attacking me- I must at least be close to their camp or something -and then realize I just look like some lost kid. I've always had a sort of young face and my outfit's more of a flowy white nightdress- probably looks childish to her, the way it billows and fails to emphasize my curves.

And then, there's a lull. The Elves catch their breath as the rift subsides into a more dormant state, calling out to each other in Elvhen- I think they're saying… leave now? We need to leave now, before it starts up again, basically- I think.

It's not hard to parse foreign languages for me, or ciphers, in this case- so long as you have a good idea of some root words you can usually puzzle out a meaning, whether it's wholly correct or not…

"Hang on, I'll get it," I say to the elf who tried to warn me, patting her shoulder as I walk past.

She makes a noise and an aborted movement toward me, I think. I can hear the move, but not what it was. Maybe she's aiming an arrow at my back.

Then I pull the extra-thick glove off my hand with my teeth, "if you wouldn't mind finding the Inquisition camp back where I came from- and letting them know where I am, that'd be great." I say, tucking the glove into one of the pockets in the sides of my nightgown.

And then I walk into the clearing, hand held aloft as I go, focusing my entire attention on that rift and the mark in my palm. "Everybody get back, I haven't tried this without my Arcane Advisor around yet. I might end up…doing something extremely unexpected, like exploding."

The Dalish hunters back away from me as I approach it, close enough for the mark to reach out and grab hold of the Rift.

And as before, it's excruciatingly painful, and when I close it- I feel something heavy smacking me in the hand. Just like every other time I've sealed a rift. I wonder what that's about?

I go down on my knees, turning my head to look at the Dalish, all standing around and looking at me with wide eyes. I grin, " _Aneth Ara! Halani_?"

And then I faceplant in the dirt because my body has given up the ghost and everything hurts.

* * *

 

Varric POV

Somewhere on our journey between Haven and the Crossroads- we lose the Arbiter.

On the second night, more specifically.

We heard a commotion early this morning, so we all got out of our tents to see what was going on, but- the Lady Arbiter didn't make an appearance.

Chuckles got suspicious, because it sounded like screaming was happening somewhere nearby, and it was loud enough for the humans to hear- albeit faintly- so why wasn't she stomping out, demanding someone do something? Or doing it herself?

And her tent was empty. I mean, her things were there, but she wasn't.

And then Chuckles cursed a blue streak in Elvhen, and all I could recognize was that word Daisy used to use a lot. _'Fenhedis'_ , I think? Everything else was too fluid and fast for me to catch.

"She probably just went to find the little Arbiter's room," I mention in the chaos of the camp being deconstructed by the servants and Scouts. "But eh…she probably heard that. We should…"

"We need to be certain she did not walk off to take care of it," the Seeker says and pauses. "The screaming has stopped. Solas, can you-"

"This way," he responds through clenched teeth.

The Arbiter's getting an earful when we find her, if she's in one piece. Maybe even if she's not.

"Maybe she just got lost, it could be it's not her fault," I say. The little Lady is…well, let's say she's the wrong kind of intelligent for the woods. She might figure it out, might not be in too much danger, but then again…I have no idea of her capabilities.

And Chuckles is stomping through the woods like he's marching off to war, jaw clenched- I really don't envy the Arbiter when he gets to her.

"The Arbiter has self defense skills, she has even begun to teach them to the servants in Haven," the Seeker chimes in with, buckling her knife to her waist. "I'm sure she will be fine until we can find her…but just as well, perhaps we should move more quickly."

We're nearly sprinting by the time we find a clearing filled with Dalish elves.

Chuckles curses again as we're surrounded by bows drawn, ready to shoot us.

"They are hers, stand down," one of the elves further back in the clearing shouts. "She said they would be coming," he continues when they stare us down.

They eventually drop their weapons, but they keep the strings taut.

"Hers?" Chuckles asks, distinct tone of dislike in his tone. "You have the Arbiter here?"

"Arbiter?" the elf walks over to us from a nearby campfire, a guy in leather and metal armor… that looks…almost…oh! It's that ironbark stuff Daisy was usually dressed in, right? So not metal, wood. "I had heard she was being called Herald of Andraste. As it is, she assisted us by sealing a rift and then asked for help. She is _Vhenallin_ and under our protection. The Keeper wants to keep her here until she can walk out on her own, but she insisted someone be sent for you. Or at least to watch for you when you came looking."

"Your keeper- did you attempt to heal her?" Chuckles asks, hand going to his face, fingertips kneading the bridge of his nose.

"That was _her_ screaming, wasn't it?" I ask, a little mystified I hadn't realized. "Shit, she alright?"

"The Keeper…tried to heal her, but she…is extremely sensitive to the magic," the Dalish elf says, looking a bit embarrassed.

" _I_ heal her," Chuckles says. "It is a very delicate process, her sensitivity has been heightened by the mark and the way she nearly tore herself apart to seal all of the ones on the path to the Breach. Take me to her, if you please," the last few words are spat through his teeth a little bit and the elves bristle.

I laugh a little nervously, "you'll have to excuse Chuckles. The Arbiter is kind of…his personal charge. And she went off and got lost in the middle of the night, you know- savior of Thedas goes missing…and all."

The Dalish elf looks at Chuckles and cocks a brow. Then he says something in Elvhen, and it sounds incredibly taunting, insulting even.

Chuckles narrows his eyes and responds with a barked response in kind and every elf in the clearing flinches.

Then he switches over to Common, thank the Maker. "She is mine to care for, and she offers herself for death more than simply overtaxing herself. Do not presume that you know what it is to protect her when you only speak of protecting her from herself- and that is one thing she will _never_ allow."

He doesn't sound so much proud of that as he does irritable about it, but hey. Same message either way. Pretty sure the Arbiter'd rather die than let someone tell her what to do, or let someone else come to harm when she could help.

I wonder why she's constantly wandering off to do shit like this without us…

Somethin' to think about.

The Dalish- what I think is their commander, head hunter guy… I could swear Daisy had a name for it…sighs and turns on his heel. "I will take you, but the _Shemlen_ and _Durgen'len_ will stay here."

"Alright," I chuckle nervously as Chuckles is led off into the middle of their camp. "So…who wants to hear a story?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but I'm like, coming down with something or something. Ugh.


	39. Solas POV

Of course she would run off and find a rift, and a Dalish clan!

Of course she wouldn't stop to consider asking for help!

"S'okay, really," she says to the elves still ringed about us. Watching me, protecting her, as if she needed it- they are the unknowns in this situation, not I. "Solas s'my healer and Arcane Advisor. He's not gonna hurt me. My feelings maybe a little b'cause he seems super pissed, but he's not gonna like, kill me or injure me."

" _Telahna, da'len_ ," the Keeper sits on her other side with a disapproving stare. "They will worry even more, now."

The Arbiter sighs and flinches as I lay a field of healing magical energy over her. "M'sorry, okay? I didn't know what I was doing, j's felt…compelled."

"Compelled to the point you could not decide it was a bad idea and turn back?" I ask with a careful tone. Though I'm aware how cold it escapes my lips.

"W'll no. But I 'as half asleep, so the thought didn't occur to me," she says. And when I look up, her face is pink and turning redder by the moment. "I'm so used to just following my instincts- I was never in this much danger b'fore in m'life. I lived in mostly safe places, I don't have…that instant knowing of danger that people around here do, yet."

"Regardless, this isn't to be repeated," I tell her. "You risked Thedas for what could possibly have been a rift, unattended and uncontained, you could have died-"

Her hand lifts and covers mine where it hovers over her stomach and my eyes flick up to her face again. She's watching me with a furrow in her brow, "I know you're upset, but you don't tell me what to do. S'not a good way to get me to do things."

We stare each other down for a few moments and then I refocus, shaking off her hand. "It is my recommendation that you do not put Thedas in danger by behaving with ignorance," I say.

She sighs, "yeah. Better."

There is a snicker that goes around the Elves ringed round us. "Is she always like this, or-"

The Keeper glances up and glares until they quiet down. "She seemed a bit…out of sorts when we first began making camp here. Then, she seemed less confused when you first began to work on her. What did I do wrong in healing her that she screamed?"

I sigh, "she has no built up resistance to magic- her body accepts it too easily. It…hurts her. To have spells cast directly on her. More than it would anyone else. She feels it, like a physical touch. It takes practice to be gentle enough not to cause more than a flinch."

"Plus Solas is a genius," she says airily, flicking her wrist, the mark flickering in the semi-darkness. "S'not your fault."

I am…what?

The Keeper chuckles, her eyes wrinkling and her mouth curling into a warm smile. "I worry not for my skill, _da'len_. Only for your welfare if you are caught without your healer."

"Oh that's never happening, I'm taking Solas everywhere," she says. "He's the best at not letting me die."

My ears flick back and I can feel my body refusing my orders to avoid a flush inching under my skin. "Arbiter, you are impaired at the moment. Perhaps you should avoid speaking any more."

The elves are watching us curiously and in some cases with aggressive disapproval. They misunderstand, as is their wont.

She hums and shrugs, "f'you say so."

"I do," I respond and sigh. "I hadn't thought the Mark would…lure you to rifts. I apologize for not anticipating this."

She blinks and then laughs, "s'not the mark. S'just me. I get…feelings. About where to find things. Sometimes things that are lost, people and animals and stuff…sometimes things that I'd enjoy seeing or keeping like old cow skeletons or something." She shakes her head, "Druffalo, I mean. Cow's…s'a different word…"

She is talking nonsense.

"Hush," I lift my hand and hover it over her face, "may I send you to sleep?"

"Hmm…don't- I want- Wake me up before we leave?" she says haltingly. Seeming to struggle with what she wants to communicate.

"I will wake you before we depart the Dalish camp, but for now you are distracting me," I tell her.

She huffs a short laugh, "'f I wanted to distract you…" and then she pauses and seems to reconsider her line of thought, subsiding into silence. "'m ready, j's do it."

And so I do.

What follows is a tense few hours of healing interspersed with eating from the rations in my pack, drinking from my waterskin and then healing again. I refuse to drink Lyrium if it isn't a dire situation.

Varric and the Seeker are allowed further into the camp after they are deemed a minimal threat. Varric is allowed his crossbow but his bolts, grenades and other weapons are confiscated and they strip the Seeker of her sword and shield. She showcases her feelings about that by crossing her arms and scowling at everyone.

Making the tense atmosphere much worse.

"She's not gonna die this time, right?" Varric asks. "That was special circumstances, sealing all those rifts…"

"She has barely hurt herself at all, compared to that," I respond. "But her body is finicky about how it will take the magic and the damage is somewhat…difficult to find, if you do not know what to look for. Even still if you do." I will be exhausted from all this healing if I do not find a better way.

If I am with her, I can use what's left over from the rift- but I cannot do that if it has been long enough for the power to dissipate. There is barely left in the air here and I dare not reach for it with the Keeper so close. She may sense something.

"She told my people we would be welcome in your village," the Keeper speaks- as she has been silent for so long, I nearly forgot she was there. "Is she telling the truth?"

I realize she is asking me, "the Arbiter protects nonhumans quite…passionately." I could say with Zeal, but that would likely put the Keeper off.

"Elves even more than anyone else, I think," Varric interjects. "Seems like she's pretty protective of the Elves, compared to everyone else. Don't know why. Seems like there's a story there."

"And if we were to come, would we be safe from the Shemlen that also have run of the village?" she asks. "I would not normally consider it. But my people…this war…" she shakes her head and mutters a plea to Mythal, "it's too much. We need somewhere safe."

Simply the mention of her name can still cause me to lose my breath. It will be a long time before the pain ebbs from that loss.

I turn my attention to assessing the Dalish, pushing thoughts of everything else away for later.

Judging from their sickly pallor and their extremely skinny bodies- they are having trouble finding food as well as protecting themselves from the demons, Templars and rogue Mages.

"Haven is safe," Seeker Cassandra asserts.

"Safer than most villages, with the rebel mages and servants united in one camp," I amend. "If you should choose to join their informal alliance, I am certain that safety could be extended to you." I haven't the faintest idea why the Arbiter would attempt to recruit Dalish, but I suppose she must have her reasons.

We are in need of more recruits, and that is to be her duty while in the Hinterlands, or traveling anywhere else. To be an emissary of the Inquisition.

I just hadn't expected her to be quite so friendly toward the _Dalish_.


	40. Chapter 40

So, in the game, everyone attacks you, no matter what you say, or who's with you.

It's much the same, but…with degrees of difference.

( _Maker's Mercy, it's a Seeker, we're going to die!_ ) are some of the screams that I hear while we cross through.

( _Mage! Get him!_ ) are some others, directed at Solas, of course.

And the ever classic, ( _they have to have food with them, kill them and take it_!)

In each situation, we're in danger. In each situation, we're attacked. And in each situation, when it's all over and there are dead bodies littering the ground- I feel so…guilty.

I'm able to save a few. A scant few. By treating the wounds of the fallen who aren't gone enough to die and having them transported to the Crossroads with us. We aren't there yet, but we're getting closer and they'll be safer there than on the path back up to Haven…alone. Without us to protect them.

A mere handful, really. I wish I could've saved more.

Cassandra Disapproves.

"They attacked us! Tried to kill us, and you are attempting to give them safe harbor- why?" she asks. For about the fifth time. She changes the way she asks every time, trying to get an actual answer out of me.

The first four times, I responded with, ( _because I can and you can't stop me_ ,) and several variations thereof. Because the question itself irritated me.

The human Soldiers are reluctant to follow me. The Elven Soldiers are _eager_. That's beginning to worry me. How much they seem to like me, and are ready to jump to my command. And I've now got like, four Dalish hunters following me around at a distance to protect me or something.

All I had to do was be decent, and now I have a power over them I don't want.

And what's a _Vhenallin_ , anyway? I know _Vhen_ is like, people or center or something. And _lin_ is like. Blood, kin or something like that… _Vhenan_ is heart. _Elvhen_ is like literally 'people'…ugh, I dunno.

I'd ask Solas…but I'm trying not to interact with him too much. I have endless curiosity and even the most patient could get fed up with me fast. So I just…wait for the really in-depth discussions to pop up that aren't…you know, completely superfluous.

Like debates about morality vs ethics instead of…the virtues of elfroot vs embrium or something.

Those two things aren't even really comparable, why am I so tired and out of it, today? I got over the magic high this morning when I woke up after the Dalish rift disaster and Solas lectured me for two hours, in-between healing me and bringing me food and water, that ( _Y_ _ou are more valuable than you were before, you must be aware of that_ ) and ( _why do you seek to destroy yourself so often if you know this_?) type things…

After a while I just had to concede the point. If I die, Thedas is fucked, because Solas can't take the mark yet. Still, it chafes to get lectured like I don't already know all of that. I can't help that I'm sometimes out of my own head. I can't even help that I'm usually depressed and angry and kind of anxious about everything.

This time, I answer her seriously- mostly because I want her to stop asking. "Because society as it is now, Thedosian society- no matter which one we're talking about, Orlesian or Ferelden or what-have-you- has cheated these people out of a happy, fulfilling life."

I stop in my perusal of the injured out on cots- I'm going to have to do so much to get the Crossroads up to my standards of healing when we get there, I know it-and turn to regard her with full attention. "When the Chantry fucked over the mages, they fucked over the Templars, too. The Templar Order is corrupt and fucked eight ways from Sunday, but there are so many within their ranks who are summarily brainwashed into doing whatever their commanders think necessary and it's a lot easier when you've got an addiction to feed and can't say 'no' because you're afraid you'll get cut off. So I have enough compassion for individuals on both sides, because they've both been kind of shanked and left for dead in a gutter, figuratively speaking."

We've picked up soldiers and refugees, too, on our way to Haven. Some of our own, some local. I should be tending to them, instead of engaging in this argument.

Cassandra's nose wrinkles, "and so we should absolve them of all wrongdoing?"

"Of course not," I snap. "But if you're going to hold them to their failings, _you've_ gotta be held to yours _, Seeker_." I emphasize the title and glare up at her, face and scalp feeling really fucking hot. I always feel hot when I get angry, why does my body do that? "Isn't your order supposed to oversee the Templars? Why was there so much Corruption in the ranks? Why were so many Templars never disciplined for doing something that hurt their charges, either intentional or not? _Where were you_?"

Her expression is stricken- like I've slapped her across the face, punched her in the stomach and told her that her puppy died, all at once.

And that's where I leave her, because nothing I've said is untrue and she needs time to think about that.


	41. Solas POV, Varric POV

"But who will keep the peace if everyone is equal to each other?" Seeker Cassandra asks with a surprising thoughtfulness. "We must have rules and laws and therefore someone to enforce them. Someone must be above others to do this, else others might exert their own force and call it lawfulness."

"I am not quite sure laws are even necessary in the way you are thinking," I respond slowly. "Certainly no one should be allowed to murder someone without some form of…justice being served. But I do not think having an entire order of lawmen is the answer."

"It is if they have no special privileges," Nik responds from the center of the procession, slowing her pace to walk beside me. "You need a policing force whose number one concern is preventing casualties and protecting people. Not because they have a divine duty or because it's their calling- just because it's their job. Sure, you need to make sure it's only certain kinds of people receiving the training necessary- but beyond that point, it should just be a job like any other. No perks, no way to cheat the system…"

"How would you do such a thing without inciting the people within the system to rebel against low pay for high risk jobs and higher pay than necessary for low risk jobs?" I ask.

She glances up at me. "Well, obviously there'd be a flat rate and rotating shifts in different places- everyone would earn the exact same amount and have the same chance of running into horribly dangerous things. Every town, village or city has its bad parts and good parts. So playing statistics would ensure that everyone had an equal opportunity to be both safe and unsafe."

"You have thought about this, extensively," I assert.

She huffs, "let's just say, where I come from…the guard force is kind of corrupt and asshole-ish on the whole. There are good guards, they do their job and they're honorable…but so many more are just straight up corrupted that…it doesn't matter how many good ones there are. So long as there are more bad guys in uniform, there's not much you can do. Especially if the bad guys who make up the majority are in leadership positions and the system was created to cater to them." She shrugs, "unless you build an entirely new one from the ground up and abolish the old ones, anyway. There's always a better way to do things, you just…have to think about it. Ask people. Listen to them."

"Will you be doing that with the Inquisition?" I ask. Something in my stomach is twisting- I can't help myself, this is…too much like what I would do. I want to see it.

"Well…" she blinks, as if the possibility hadn't occurred to her. "I guess I am Arbiter of Justice. Am I allowed to create a new policing force in Haven if I want?" She asks Cassandra, leaning around me a bit.

The Seeker frowns and her eyes dart back and forth as she thinks, "I…as long as you can find a way to fund them yourself, I see no problem with it."

"Wanna loan me a mountain of gold?" the Arbiter asks me with an amused spark in her eyes and a smirking mouth.

"If I were to have one, it would be yours," I respond. I do, many, in fact. I still do not know if this is a political maneuver for her, but I cannot deny it would be useful to have her as powerful and influential as possible while espousing these beliefs and attempting to reform the processes that I would. Though I suppose I would have to have her removed when she inevitably shows her true face…if I can, even then.

Her lips curl further and her eyes seem to snap with energy, "I'll remember you said that."

I feel as though I've just been tricked and cannot fathom how…

* * *

 

Varric POV

"You cannot simply intend to re-integrate prisoners into the general populace!" the Seeker says incredulously.

We've stopped again for the night. All day spent walking, then everyone set up under a canopy of trees at the edge of the road, Dalish setting up temporary shelters from fallen logs and branches nearby, covering them with ivy ripped off trees- it's a cozy set up.

The Seeker and the Arbiter have been debating shit all day. Well, it's not like they don't always do that. It's just, they've spent a longer time than usual going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. The Seeker asked about the work program and the Arbiter had an answer that didn't mesh with her idea of justice.

I don't get it much, myself- but since she's already explaining to the Seeker, I can just shut my trap and listen.

"Serial killers, no. Pedophiles, hell no. Those two types of people need to be executed until we can somehow find a better way- though pedophiles will always need to die, just my personal assessment. Anyway. Thieves, yes. Murders that occurred in the heat of the moment, yes, eventually. Premeditated murder, no. Execution."

"Heat of the moment?" the Seeker asks.

"There are some people who haven't been taught to process certain emotions, and that's a failing of society and whoever raised them, not themselves," the Arbiter says. "A woman who comes home to find her partner sleeping with someone else might murder them both in a fit of pique and then be horrified and guilty afterwards, because it's not usually in their nature to be violent. There are…things, taught to people. Ways to deal with things that aren't…right. We have to fix them. After we do, we can start punishing people based on what they've done with full knowledge and accounting of their actions."

"What is it you believe they do not know?" Chuckles interjects, walking over with a couple broken up twigs and tossin' 'em into the fire.

They start to smell, really…sort of floral, sweet?

"How to process an emotion, I just said that," the Arbiter replies. "You look tired, and you're kind of-"

"I'm fine," he replies. "I meant specifically, what is it that they do not know, that the knowing would change the outcome?"

You've gotta cut her fussing off at the pass or she'll spend hours fawning over you. Or well. Over Chuckles, anyway. The rest of us, she leaves alone pretty quick. Maybe just because he's the only one who can fix her mark, but…I don't think that's it.

"Oh," she blinks. "Well, it depends on the situation, there's just so many things we're taught that are wrong and unhealthy and if we weren't anymore…then there'd be all new problems that'd need to be addressed."

He chuckles, "you do not intend to end all problems that exist or that could exist?"

Seems like that's her end-goal, so it's surprising to hear her acknowledge it's probably not gonna happen.

"Well, that's beyond just me," she says, wrinkling her nose. "People have to decide for themselves that it's enough, that they want more…" her sigh is a little worrying. Long, slow and sad. "But I have to show them first, so they can look back, remember…and maybe push a little harder."

"You don't intend for this to last?" the Seeker asks. "Why do it, then? What is the point?"

"Happier people," she says. "Even if it's just for a while, even if I only manage to convince a handful of humans that the ways they've been living up to now have been wrong…it's worth it. Because going forward, it will mean something."

"You have such interesting ideas, Lady Arbiter. Herald of Andraste," one of the Dalish melts out of the nearby shadows. Eavesdropping or just guarding the Arbiter? No way to know, either way, doing both. "Would you mind if I ask…what would the Dalish Elves do in this system?"

"They'd stop being assholes to city elves, for one," she replies, dryly. "Yeah I saw you guys talking to some of my Scouts and I heard what you were saying."

The elf's ears twitch and his eyes blink, but that's the only tell he's got. Long, white-blonde hair is pulled back and braided- just a bit left out to loop around the front of his ears, framing the points. Almost defiantly displaying them. "If they choose to live as Shemlen, why should we not treat them like it?"

Chuckles huffs and walks off toward his tent. He tends to eh…clash pretty hard with the Dalish. Though both parties usually only get quietly angry and frustrated, it's a thing to watch.

"But they aren't," she says and then pats the ground beside her on the bedroll she's using as a seat.

His mouth curls at one end and he walks around the fire to settle next to her with a graceful fall. I've never seen someone fall with that much practiced artistry before. "Aren't they?" he asks.

"Of course not, they're treated like dirt," she responds. "And most of them don't consider it an option to run off to the Dalish because they don't have any woodsy skills- they have nothing to offer you. So they think 'they'll probably reject me anyway' or 'I'd just be a useless leech' or something to that effect. And how do you imagine they get out of the cities, anyway?" She asks. "Most of them are hemmed in and refused the right to leave."

"What do you mean, 'refused the right'?" he asks sharply.

"The Alienage isn't just to keep them apart, it's to keep them in, so they have to work for the humans," she explains. "And if the humans treat them like shit and pay them a pittance, they're too depressed and tired from working all the time and being abused to even think of doing anything else. It's not just a matter of looking up one day and seeing your situation and deciding it's shitty- they already know. They just don't think they have other options."

"They could just go over the walls," he says.

"How many of them do you imagine have tried that and been shot down by guards," she says, more than asks.

"They know nothing of the old ways," he says.

"Who could teach them?" she asks. "And you guys admit yourselves that you only know as much as you do from studying old ruins and that it's not the full picture, do you not?"

He hums uneasily.

"How do you expect them to know anything if there's no one to teach them and nothing to learn from? I can understand thinking their way of life is fucked up, it kind of is- but you have no right to look down on them. I admire the Dalish for their fortitude and their dedication to reclaiming what they lost- but I refuse to let them stomp all over the city elves who have to put up with humans and their bullshit every day of their lives."

"You think we don't?" he asks with tight lips.

"I think you live in the woods most of the time and even if a human finds your camp once a week or so, it's still less trouble for you than a city elf getting murdered 'just for funsies' in a human city and then dropped on their family's doorstep- and then that elf's father has to go work for the father of the man who murdered his child to support his other children," she's startin' to light up again.

Every time she gets pissed off and impassioned about something, she starts to turn pink. Hard to see by firelight, but still visible enough.

The elf looks into the fire, "you think I'm unaware how bad their conditions are?"

"I think there's a difference between understanding and getting something," she replies. "I get that people are bigoted, I get why they're bigoted and I get why it's a horrible thing. But I could never possibly understand what it's like to be looked down on just for what you are, what it's like to be glanced at and determined less, not on my merits but based on the way I am. Who I am. The kind of oppression I faced back home, that was still different from the kind that your people experience every day."

"What are you saying?" he asks, looking back at her with furrowed brows.

She sighs, "I'm saying, your oppression is different and shouldn't be compared to theirs. I'm saying, they couldn't possibly understand your trials and tribulations as much as you couldn't understand theirs- and it's because you've separated yourselves from them. They want your freedom, they want the knowledge of the Ancients- most of them. But when you're punished for the small bit of differentiation you are able to cling to- eventually all things that are yours…all they do is cause you pain, and it's better to forget."

"If they had those things, at least they would be _Elvhen_ , even if they were still miserable," he says.

The Arbiter's eyes close and when they open, they're glossy. "You can't blame them for casting off everything they knew about themselves in the first place. I've seen religious crusades and settlers and how all that goes, before. They get beaten, or murdered- if they refuse to convert. If they practice something other than what the colonials deem correct. It was self preservation."

He doesn't have anything to say to that. He's just got that expression of deep thinking on his face that most people get when the Arbiter manages not to piss them off with her ideas.


	42. Solas POV

Why does he insist upon speaking to me?

"Do you know she calls you a _'Hahren'_ when she's not thinking about it?" Shivanas is carving up and eating an apple, popping pieces in his mouth as he cuts them off with a dagger. "She gets this cute little blush on her face too, when she says it, like she didn't mean to. Doesn't let on other than that, though. Just keeps talking without a pause."

"And?" apparently Nik considers me to be knowledgeable enough to call a genius to complete strangers, I don't see why the term for honored elders and favored leaders would be any different.

"I don't see what it is that is so impressive about you," he says.

I glance up with flat eyes, "nor I about you. May I go back to my reading, now?"

"There has to be something, though. She wouldn't call you an elder and a genius just because she likes you- that doesn't seem like her," he muses. "So it would have to be that you have some skill I am unaware of."

"I tend to the mark," I respond. Hoping to quickly end this conversation. "And I am her primary healer. She is reluctant to let anyone else try, that is all."

"No, I thought of that- the mark part is true, but as for healing…" He sits up a bit straighter and grins as he pops another piece of apple in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing. "I asked the _durgen'len_ and he said other people could heal her just fine. She just prefers _you_ to do it. So what is it that makes you so special if it's not just that skill with the glowing thing in her hand?"

Sighing heavily, I shut the book in my lap and stand up, dropping it atop my pack beside me before turning to him with an unimpressed expression. "Is there some point to this line of inquiry, and if so, shall we get to it already?" I ask irritably.

"I was wondering if it was perhaps your skill in battle, but I've seen you fight-"

"Get. To. The. Point," I hiss.

He huffs and walks closer to me, tossing the apple core away into the woods near us and re-sheathing his blade after wiping it off with a cloth. "Have you no pride in whatever it is that you do so well she must keep you so close?" he asks. As if not having pride is worthy of pity.

I tilt my head at him and surprise him by stepping in close. I grasp the front of his armor to keep him from stepping away and stare down into his eyes with deadpan seriousness as he glares up into mine.

And then I speak, in _Elvhen_. I know he will not understand all of it, but he will hopefully be able to get the gist of it. And he will be too proud to ask a _flat ear_ what he just said in _Elvhen_ , the language his people is supposed to know better than any other.

" _The folly of youth and power is to assume yourself more when you are in fact, less. I have thought myself more and less, and I prefer less. Humility is the path to wisdom, not Pride_ ," and then I release him and step away.

He is turning a bit pink, though it is difficult to see under his mid-tone brown skin…I can feel the heat coming off of him. It is one of the many things that has been lost- responding to the bodies of those around you with equal or opposite reactions depending on your chemistry, your relationship and your level of understanding of the other.

I am a bit surprised when his lips purse and what comes out of his mouth is, "I did not…understand that. Not enough to be coherent. I understood…pieces- how is it you know so much of our language?" he asks. "Is there some hidden knowledge somewhere we should know of?"

"You all possess the knowledge you seek," I respond blandly. "But rather than consolidate it and attempt to filter the truth from it, you all insist on believing different tales of different events and hoarding the words and rituals that have been passed down for your own clans. You are welcoming to each other, not much more."

"Coming together as one would only incite the _shemlen_ to destroy us once again," he replies.

I hum, "perhaps. But at least you would be _Elvhen_ , is that not what you said?"

His ears flick back, "I am already _Elvhen_."

"Ah yes," I reply with a twitch in my brow. "You who are above all others. All should bow down to the mighty Dalish and their broken understanding of their own history."

" _Enough_ ," the Arbiter's voice hisses from nearby and we both turn with a jerk.

We were so involved in our argument, neither of us noted her arrival.

She stands there with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed, "you're _both_ assholes. Quit trying to decide who's _more_ of one and just acknowledge that, and get better. That's what I do." And then she turns on her heel and walks away, as is her usual way of ending a discussion.

Shivanas looks to be pouting, "who does she think she is?"

"She is an incredibly biased third party," I reply. "She is always looking to the people on the bottom and how they would perceive things, and then she works her way up. I suppose she takes offense to the fact that you do not like me because I am _not_ Dalish- and that I do not like you, because you _are_. I have still not been able to decide if she is extremely altruistic and wise…or extremely manipulative and scheming."

"She doesn't seem that complex," he says, baffled.

There is a chuckle and Varric walks past us, apparently catching the end of our conversation as he follows the Arbiter…somewhere, "you haven't known her long enough, then."


	43. Chapter 43

"I wanna talk to ya, Arbiter," Varric walks behind me as I stomp out of the wooded area where we've been camping with the Dalish.

We're gonna be in the Crossroads like, tomorrow. So I decided to stop here and…fight our way to a safe position, leaving a safe path for them to follow behind us by a few hours. We'll leave in the morning and the rest will follow when the sun is at its highest point in the sky- noon.

"Yeah?" I pause and turn back to him, irritation with Solas and Shivanas being bigot-y assholes momentarily forgotten.

"You know, I thought to myself 'why is it that she keeps running off alone? She doesn't seem like the death-seeking type and she's sensible', and that's when it came to me," he says. He walks up closer to me, stopping close enough we can look into each other's faces with minimal difficulty. "You don't want to take Chuckles or the Seeker because they nay-say or get in the way of shit."

I blink, "well…they do. But honest to god, I don't think that clearly about it."

"No, you seem mostly an instinctual kinda person," he agrees. "But I'm hoping, if I tell you to just take me when you're about to run off alone to do some insane shit, you will. That maybe you'll just remember this conversation instinctively because you know I won't get in the way and having someone capable of combat who's on your side is a definite advantage."

Tilting my head and searching his face, I nod, "I'll probably at least consider it. But my brain is an expert at shoving away distractions in favor of the thing I'm focusing on."

"Just throw a rock at my tent or in my general direction when you're heading off or something," he says with a chuckle. "Or tap my shoulder as you pass by. No need to explain until we're on our way. Just take me with you, so I can watch your back."

It's a good idea, "I can't promise anything but that I'll try."

"All I'm looking for," he says with a game smile. "Now…we need to talk about these Dalish who've been following us. Why did they come with, when the rest of their Clan headed back to Haven with some Scouts? Aren't they their Clan's protectors?"

"Yeah, I dunno. They keep calling me _Vhenallin_ , but closest translation to that I can work out is either 'heart blood', 'people blood' or 'people kin' or 'blood kin' or even 'heart kin' but I told Shivanas I'm not Elf-blooded when he asked…" I trail off with a pout.

"It means 'friend of the people'," Shivanas and Solas come walking out of the trees together.

Solas scoffs, "it doesn't."

Shivanas stops to glare at him and bites through his teeth, "what _does_ it mean, then?"

"It is an ancient term for something that has been lost to time," Solas responds, waspishly. "The Arbiter is closer in her guesses than that. _Vhenallin_ is a term of respect for a kind of person that has…not been seen in ages."

"Well, languages evolve," I reply a bit irritably. Glaring at Solas and meeting his eyes when he glances over at me. "What it meant to the ancients doesn't really matter except as a comparison. How people use it and understand it now is what's important. And until you open up a class to teach everyone _Elvhen_ and the proper way to speak it, you've got no room to make fun or belittle them for piecing together what they had."

His lips press together, but he says nothing. We just kinda glare at each other for a minute, until Varric coughs and clears his throat to break the tension and draw our attention.

"So…it's a term for people who help the Elves?" Varric asks Shivanas.

He inclines his head, "yes… and though I would like to know the root of the term…." his eyes cut to Solas with a sideways glance, "I feel as though if I ask, I must prepare for my face to be rubbed in the fact that I do not know."

And with that, Shivanas turns on his heel and walks away.

I blink and shout after him, "but all I did was seal a rift, I would've done that anyway!"

He turns, walking backwards with a smirk on his face, "are you saying you've never befriended the Dalish and yet you know so much Elvhen as to greet us as friends and ask for assistance all on your own? I highly doubt _he's_ taught you anything."

My mouth opens and closes - because of course I can't say that I haven't met and helped Dalish before- I've _been_ Dalish before, technically…and he laughs as he leaves the clearing, turning around again and weaving through the trees with practiced familiarity.

And then I'm left with Solas staring at me with a look on his face I can't decipher.

"What?" I ask.

"You speak _Elvhen_?" he asks.

"I can greet someone, call them a friend, ask for help and…say I'm sorry," I say with my eyes drifting up to the right and unfocusing. "And other small things…that I can't call to mind right now. I like languages, I like understanding people and understanding a language is a way to do that," when my eyes focus back in, I still can't decipher the look on his face.

"I understand a couple of words, too," Varric says. "Enough to know he keeps callin' me 'child of the stone', same as you usually do. And that he apologizes to his keeper a lot. He keeps sayin' that 'Eer…abehlah...' something."

" _Ir abelas_ ," Solas and I say, at the same time….

With the exact same inflection.

Because I heard him say it in Inquisition and I unconsciously mimic the person I've heard say it the most when I learn new languages. I speak Antivan words like Zev does, too. As well as Arcanum/Tevene like Fenris and Qunlat like Iron Bull and Sten.

But Solas looks at me like I just stole his soul or something, all furrowed brows and affronted expression. "You…at the very least you should have spoken that as a Dalish elf would."

"How do you know there isn't a clan somewhere that got it right?" I ask curiously. "You can't have met with all of them."

He swallows, "no, I have not. But I am interested to know which you have known to speak with that exact accent."

"Hm…" I make a show of thinking about it. "No, I think I'll hold that back till you stop being a dick to the Dalish. Because you'd just be an ass to them, anyway. And part of being friends with the Dalish is hiding them from assholes."

Solas is rigid and his mouth is a set line.

"Can you say I'm wrong about that assessment?" I ask.

And he turns on his heel and leaves, back toward camp. Probably because he knows I'm not wrong, at least.

Or because he's too furious to speak, that could be it, too.

…thinking of Clans that I've met or been part of has brought up one very specific…well, I wouldn't call them a 'clan'…in fact they might find that offensive, if it connects them to the Dalish.

Huh. What am I gonna do about that?


	44. Chapter 44

"Just breathe it in, I've been testing this on a man with breathing problems in Haven and he's responded well to it," I drape a towel over the woman's head. "If it doesn't help, we can try something else- I've got a bunch of remedies for this. Try not to speak until you stop experiencing the symptoms, alright?"

"Thank you, milady," her husband says. "Our son is the only one who knows how to make her medicine, and he's left to join some cult. I thought she would die before I could get a healer to help her."

"Why didn't anyone help her till now?" I ask with furrowed brows.

"It is likely the healers here are more occupied with men and women who are bleeding to death than those who are…" Solas glances at the woman, "afflicted with…what did you call it?"

"Asthma," I reply vaguely as I ponder on that. "I knew everyone was kind of disorganized, but I never expected…didn't they go overboard, organizing things in the Circle? That'd be my number one guess, when you're powerless- you exert control over what you can. Schedules, measuring the amounts of things…stuff that's always the same and you can keep within your own power…"

"Oh well," one of the mages nearby perks up at that. "We did! Indeed! But you see…er. Only First Enchanters and such were allowed to control our schedules."

"Shit, how many of you guys cut your own hair in fits of pique?" I ask in shock.

She blinks rapidly, "I…rather a lot, actually. How do you know about that?"

"When you can't exert control over a situation, a person often turns to control of their body. Their appearance- getting tattoos, cutting their hair…" self harm. Shit. How many cutters got tranquilized or murdered under suspicion of blood magic?

My chest clenches up. "Anyway…have you guys got this handled?"

"Aye, lady Arbiter," the mage responds. "Go on and have a rest, we'll be having dinner soon."

Which of course…means that I head straight for the firepit where I can see a ram getting spit-roasted. And after a few minutes arguing with the hunter over how to best use the meat- he wants to make jerky, I want him to make it into a stew for everyone to share- until eventually I just huff and slap a gold piece in his hand.

"Just give me a big chunk, then!" I exclaim tiredly. I don't have much money on hand, only enough to buy a few odds and ends- Josephine says I have a paycheck that she's holding in case I really need it for something, like a bank would, I guess. She gave me a tiny pouch of a few gold pieces, some silvers and coppers- enough to buy anything I'd need. I eat with the Inquisition, so I'll be fine on food.

He cuts out a bit of meat that looks kind of fatty and stringy, but who cares- I'm cooking it into a stew anyway.

Except now, I'll need more veggies than before.

I run myself ragged, finding an available fire and pot for cooking- packing enough snow and melting it into enough water- chopping up the meat with whatever carrots and other veggies I can find to buy off someone- using some of the Inquisition's supply of salt and some other spices that I recognize the smell of but can't put a name to…

Flour is more difficult to get anyone to part with, but I get a sack and dump it all in, stirring the cauldron with a large wooden spoon until it smells like that stew that grandma would make when it was cold and she was feeling especially fancy. Grandma usually also cooked beans and gravy to go with it, but stew will have to do.

I start ladling out the stew into bowls and shoving them into random refugees arms, and after a while- all the most sickly and pale people in the crossroads have something to eat. Semi-solid, but not quite solid enough to trouble their stomachs, I hope. I chopped all the bits, extra-fine.

It's not nearly enough for everyone, but I got all of 'em who were the most at risk of keeling over, I think.

And…then I really am exhausted and I end up flopping into my bedroll early, before the sun even fully sets.

I fall asleep slowly over the course of an hour or so, as I get used to the noises outside and my body slowly relaxes into the bedding under me. I usually sleep like a log, until morning. Not moving unless I wake up for something and then flipping over into another position before going back to sleep- I don't normally have trouble sleeping- except the occasional bout of insomnia but even then I do eventually sleep. It's just later than usual.

And I have dreams in Thedas, but it's usually something like- waking up in the area I'm in and just sort of sitting there and looking around at the area, unable to really move that much or change anything. At least on Earth I could get up, walk around and- oh, I'd just learned to manifest something!

Sorta. I mean, it wasn't really manifesting so much as my dream threw me a bone and gave me something instead of making me go looking for it, but you know…

So now I feel like I'm back to square one.

And of course for some reason…I wake up in the middle of the night again…

Which doesn't normally happen unless I need to use the restroom, but I've stopped drinking all fluids an hour before bedtime anyway, to make sure that's not an issue. So it's not that…

When I step out of my tent, yawning, I'm not quite prepared for Solas to be on watch. It's actually kind of a shock.

I blink at him for a few seconds, sure my eyes are fooling me. "You're not asleep," I blurt sleepily.

He stares at me from the other side of the dying embers of the fire- the light dancing over his eyes and giving them a dangerous, stark quality…that I shouldn't like, but do anyway. I need my paints. "No, I am not."

"What about the memories?" I ask, tilting my head.

He looks less direct at that, but he doesn't exactly soften. "I don't believe I'd find much besides misery, pain and myriad flashes of fear and anger at the moment."

"Oh," I reply and then sit on the log across the fire from him. "My brain woke me and it won't shut up."

A chuckle escapes him and he clears his throat, "how is that?"

"My brain moves too fast, it's hard to…make it work right if I don't…do things," I say with slow blinks of tiredness. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. I'm too tired to sleep, ugh.

"I could always put you to sleep," he offers.

"No, I always feel groggy when I wake up after that," I reply. "I want to be awake all the way, tomorrow."

"We are investigating that cult, yes, I suppose it would be best."

And then ensues a very awkward silence and I don't know why it's awkward.

"Why is it awkward?" I ask very bluntly.

He stares at me, "I'm sorry?"

"We're awkward. We've never been awkward. Kind of tense and standoffish, but awkward is new," I say. I'm gonna be so embarrassed at my sleepy self in the morning, but knowing that doesn't stop me.

He breathes slowly, like he's gathering the fortitude to deal with my loopy ass. "I don't know why it wouldn't be. We do not…precisely see eye-to-eye," he says.

"We do," I respond with a wrinkled nose, "that's the really fucked up thing, is you agree with me, you just don't act like it."

"Beg your pardon?" he asks with furrowed brows.

"Solas. Do you agree that everyone should be equal?" I ask.

"Of course I do," he replies.

"And yet you talk about all other races but yours like they're mud under your boots," I say.

His hand twitches in his lap, but his expression stays even, "do I?"

"The Dalish?" I ask with a quirked brow. "Have you actually even met any of them in person before?"

"In person?" he asks, with a sharp glance into my eyes.

But I'm too loose from sleep to care or look away, "you're a somniari, right? You could've met some of them in dreams, I suppose."

He looks away, into the fire, "yes, I have."

"In dreams or reality?" I ask for clarification.

He makes a noise in his throat, "both."

"Are you taking issue with 'reality'?" I ask with a slowly spreading smirk.

"Reality is subjective," he replies. "Perception matters, in terms of agreeing on how something is."

"Yeah, but I said 'dreams', not the Fade. They're different, aren't they?" I ask.

He looks at me again and tilts his head, "by degrees, yes."

"Another question," I say abruptly, lifting a hand to tick up a finger- as if to say 'one second' or mark off a tally or something. I dunno why I'm doin' that. "Do you agree that one person holding a lot of power over other people is a bad idea, and that an organization holding that power is even worse?"

His fingers interlace in his lap, "I do."

"We agree, I'm just not struggling to overcome ingrained Thedosian prejudices like you are. I'm from a place where none of this exists," I flick my wrist. "Mages aren't around, though they're talked about, like Elves, Dwarves and Qunari- like it's a fairytale. And even then, they were talked about like they were people, or something amazing- I've never had any of it demonized in my social structure. Everyone else I've met, has. And you do, and wherever you're from…I dunno what standards are for that kind of thing, but by mine, you're incredibly bigoted."

His lips press together tightly, "am I?"

"Bigotry isn't always all in your face, wanting to kill people," I say. "Sometimes it's believing a group as eclectic and varied as the Dalish are all the same in some way or another- even though you know they're all individuals, you still talk about them like they're copies of each other or something. And why do you get so upset when I call you on it, anyway?"

"Why do I get upset when you insinuate I'm no different from any human noble who steps on the people below him?" he asks with a snotty tone.

"Hm…you're thinking of it wrong, then," I blink placidly. "Everyone's a bigot. I'm a bigot, Elves are bigots. Dwarves and Qunari and the poor are all bigots. It's not just the rich folks."

"You just said a moment ago that you are not," he says with narrowing eyes.

"No. I said I don't have _Thedosian_ bigotry, which is differentiating races depending on the pointy-ness of your ears, your height or whether or not you're huge, have horns and follow the Qun. Like…where I'm from, bigotry is different. I still have to check myself- and I love self-improvement, so I don't take it personally when someone points out that I'm being an ass."

The silence as we stare at each other over the fire then is less awkward…more…I don't know. It's an empty silence filled with things that could be said.


	45. Solas POV

"You…want us to be a village? With non-mage people here?" Anais, the leader of this cult, speaks to the Herald with confusion. "But…we're mages. They aren't going to want to live with us," she says. "Even the few refugees here that have joined us are leery of us."

She would be surprised how easy it has been to convince new recruits to live with mages if it means warm beds, better food, good healing and the occasional rejuvenation spell.

The Herald leans heavily into my side as I tend to the mark and heal her after closing the rift in the fortress. It is almost overwhelming, being this close to a person, feeling the warmth of another body.

It burns, a bit. I am…trying not to be bothered by it.

"Trust me, I can make it palatable for them. And while they're here, if you're kind and hospitable and they see you as _people_ instead of evil caricatures that the Chantry has told them about, maybe some of them will remember," she says.

She is barely damaged at all, compared to the first rift. Barely at all compared to the Dalish Clan's rift, in fact. If I am here, I mitigate much of the ripping and tearing that happens in the process of sealing the rifts. Perhaps I should explain that to her. I didn't believe I needed to, she seemed so willing to have me along everywhere. Still does, in fact.

Anais sighs, "I don't think enough, my lady. But we will try, for you."

"Try for _you_ ," the Herald replies weakly. "Send me a list of all the things you need, and I mean _need_ , not want- and I'll figure out some way to get it. Then make a list of the things you _want_ and the reasons for it and I'll think over a way to get them."

The mage inclines her head with a beaming smile, "as you say, my lady!"

"Now…point me to Hyndel, if you would, please?" she asks with a smile.

"I'll ask him to meet with you, my lady," Anais says with surprise. "But why do you want him, out of curiosity?"

"I need his skill with potion making," she says.

And so we are free to enter the fortress's mess hall. I support the Herald the whole way and before long, Varric and Cassandra return from their respective tasks.

Not even a moment after she'd sealed the rift, she'd begun wheezing requests for them to do something for her. Varric to find out whose land we are on at the moment, Cassandra to see if there were any mages wielding swords or mercenaries hired to protect them.

"Seems nobody's lived here in a long time, Schemer," Varric has finally settled on a moniker for her, then. I heard him call her that earlier, but it seems this one is sticking. "This place is called Winterwatch Tower. The land's probably good for claiming- especially seeing as we're reclaiming it from mages. Technically. Used to belong to a Guerrin, though."

The Herald seems bothered by that, and Varric seems to understand why. That family is extremely close to the royal line at the moment, are they not? I wonder if the Inquisition will be rousted out by the royal army.

"There are some mercenaries here, though the company I met with seems…inexperienced," Seeker Cassandra comments.

"Inexperienced?" the Herald tilts her head.

"I believe they took their chance to earn coin protecting the mages and other refugees here…" the Seeker shifts and sighs, "but they are new to sword work. Trained, but informally so."

"All of them?" she asks.

I throw another layer of healing magic over the bits that are still raw, and her eyes close. She seems to be adjusting to my sudden attentions well. Better than before, at least.

"There is one who seems to have been trained in a formal guard force, but he is not in charge of the rest- they seem just a group of young men who like to hit things," the Seeker says with a slowly wrinkling nose.

The Herald snorts, "of course they are. Hey, Solas?"

I glance up and see her looking at me with determination, but her eyes are cast away. "If I asked you to use magic to hurt someone so I could make them understand something, would you? And if the answer is no, that's fine."

I don't know why I am surprised. It always comes these sorts of tactics, eventually. "I would like to know what you wish me to do, before I agree or decline."

"You want him to use magic to hurt someone?" the Seeker asks, incredulous.

"Not permanently," she replies. "I just want to make him understand something- it might not be necessary. I might just be able to convince him with words. If not, I want to try the magic. If that doesn't work either, then…I suppose it's just a lost cause. I'd ask for his permission first!" she says defensively.

"You're gonna ask permission to hurt someone?" Varric asks, puzzled.

"Yes," she nods.

"If we have permission, for whatever it is, and the effects will not be permanent- I agree," I am intrigued now.

And then an apprentice walks into the mess and the Herald's eyes snap to him, immediately.

Blonde, wearing fine, but frayed robes. One of the Elven mage rebels, I can sense the magic hanging about him. Not nearly as much as should be there, but the taste of it on the air is familiar…

He glances over and seems to quail a bit under our intense scrutiny for a moment before making his way over.

The Herald gestures at him to sit across from her. Varric moves to make space and Cassandra stands with her arms crossed, watching with a pinched expression.

"Hyndel, isn't it?" the Herald is the Arbiter now. "I would like to ask you something."

"I…will answer if I can, milady," he replies. Ears twitching in nervousness.

"Why did you leave without making your mother some potions?" she asks.

I'm rendered…still with surprise. And then I recall the old couple in the Crossroads and become invested in the answer. I do wonder why he did not at least leave his parents with a recipe and instructions…

The boy makes a face, "I had to leave, or I was going to be rounded up and roasted at the stake. Mother and father didn't want to come, but I kept trying to convince them."

"That didn't answer my question," she replies. "Your mother was having an attack when I met her."

He makes a flippant motion with his hand and makes a noise in his throat, "mother is always having an attack. She's not died from it yet."

The air in the mess is…different, with that declaration.

The Arbiter stares at him, intensely.

He seems to shrink under her gaze.

She purses her lips and inhales slowly, exhaling carefully before speaking, "you think maybe the _potions_ have something to do with her _not dying_ from it yet?"

He flinches and his ears flicker, "I…I didn't really-"

"You didn't think about it, because it wasn't about you," she cuts him off.

He lifts his head and flushes, eyes wide, "I've had to make those damn potions for years-"

She doesn't have to speak a single word to shut his mouth. She merely has to curl her lip in a snarl and he quiets. "Are you saying your mother _deserves_ to be in pain and feel afraid every time she has an attack simply because you're _tired_ of making them?" she snaps.

He shivers and his shoulders hunch, "I-no. Of-of course not. I…I can make her more-"

"Do you know _why_ you are making them?" she asks with a frown. "Do you understand what you've done to your mother?"

"N…no?" he replies. "Mother could always go to an apothecary, it doesn't _have_ to be me."

"True," she replies, looking at him with focused eyes, wide in her face- brows low. "And pray tell, where would one acquire an extremely specific recipe for an extremely specific ailment?"

He flushes again and bows his head, "I…didn't think about that, either."

"And what about the costs?" she asks. "And the fact that your father'd probably have to put himself in danger to gather the ingredients?"

He swallows roughly.

"Your actions have consequences," she says with a deep inhale and exhale. "Would you like to know?"

He blinks and lifts his head to frown in confusion, "would I like to know what?"

"What it feels like, when your mother has an attack," she replies. "I can have Solas demonstrate with magic. Not enough to kill you, not even really enough to remove your breath entirely- just enough for just long enough to maybe understand a bit better what your mother goes through. If the answer is no, I ask that you go back to the Crossroads to be with your parents until we can find a better way. Or at least send the recipe down to the healers there."

He's watching her with wide eyes, "you-you want me to-to-"

"I don't _want_ anything from you, Hyndel, I'm giving you an option," she replies. "Would you like to understand?"

He glances at me and I tilt my head, quirking an eyebrow. I highly doubt he will agree to it.

He swallows harshly. "How would it make me understand?"

"It wouldn't, not completely," she replies, "but I'm hoping you'll understand _better_ why she can't just _muddle through_ an attack."

He bites his bottom lip, "I can say no?"

"You can always say no to me," she responds.

The Arbiter is a bit more stone-faced than the Herald. So strange.

"Just…for a moment, then?" he asks.

I am shocked he is even considering it.


	46. Chapter 46

"Ugh, okay," I groan and totter across the lane toward the opposite side of the fortress. "Do we have all the spots marked for the heating runes?"

"Yes milady," Hyndel replies with his clipboard clutched in his hands with some force.

I was able to send some potions down to his mother and convince them to move their shit up to the fortress to live with him so he could care for them- but they haven't gotten here yet. Until they do, I figured I'd keep Hyndel with me and he could take on responsibilities for maintaining the fortress.

He's still kind of frightened of me. Don't really care all that much. Anyone else, it'd horrify me if they were afraid- but this kid ticked me off so bad, I'm taking pleasure in it, just a little. That's bad, I know it is. But I am. No point denying it.

"And what kind of supply storage options do we have now after we took stock?" I ask.

"We still have the larders from each side of the fortress in the kitchens to store food and medical supplies can be put in chests around the infirmary or on shelves," he says.

"Good, good…" I rub my forehead with my fingertips.

"Herald, a word?" Solas melts out of the shadows nearby.

I jolt, " _Jesus Christ_!"

That twitch at the corner of his mouth happens again. He likes terrifying me. "I have something to show you…and questions to ask."

I shrug and gesture at Hyndel, "do me a favor and find out how many kids we've got in this place, altogether. And how many of them are orphans."

"Yes, milady!" he says and scurries off. I call it 'scurrying' because he always moves away from me like a panicked rat running from a cat. It's already beginning to bother me instead of amuse me.

I sigh and turn to face Solas, blinking sleepily, "what is it?"

"The artifact I told you about, it is as I thought," he replies. "It is of Ancient _Elvhen_ design, and should be helpful for the stabilization of the Veil in the area."

I wonder if 'Ancient _Elvhen_ Design' means they were made way back in the ancient days- or just that he designed them- back then or now, either way it'd still technically count, wouldn't it? "And you're certain it won't just make it all worse?"

"It will either help or not work at all. It has no functions that would be a detriment to the area," he says.

"Alright, lead the way. And what questions?" I ask as he turns on his heel and leads the way toward that one tower with the ancient _Elvhen_ artifact. Should've known he wouldn't wait for the actual in-game quest trigger for these things. Still, it was a surprise for him not to. I guess I still half-expect everything to turn out to be…static. Unreal.

"That boy agreed to the option you gave him," he says as we walk into the tower. Then turns to me as he reaches the first ladder, "why?"

"You're asking me?" I quirk a brow.

"You know," he replies. "It seems you at least have theories for why anyone does anything."

"True," I grin. "Mostly? He agreed because he was thinking 'it can't be that bad'," I say. "I did the same thing in a different way when I was his age…there's this stuff you can smoke, you see- it hurts you. Maybe even kills you. And my mother wouldn't quit."

He pauses with his hands and one of his feet on the ladder, looking over at me with sharp attention.

I look away from him and sigh, "I wanted to prove to myself that she could, she just didn't want to. So I smoked it."

"And?" he asks.

"I coughed a lot, didn't like the taste- but I ended up doing it again and again for a year or two- not often. Just enough that I felt I was doing it enough to be able to quit. Once every few weeks or months…I can't remember the exact time between each one." I shrug and purse my lips, "then I quit. And never did it again."

"And so you proved yourself correct," he says.

I laugh, "no. I hadn't become addicted because I didn't really need it. There's a chemical that addicts you to it- but I had other coping mechanisms. I read, I played games and obsessed over characters in stories…I already had my vices. This one was gross and expensive and I didn't really need or want it. I just ended up proving that everyone has their vice and is equally unwilling to give it up as the next person. Just because I could let go of my mother's vice…didn't mean I wanted to do the same with mine."

It's a good thing that saying 'played games' would immediately bring to mind tabletops and cards and shit. I'm just glad I remembered not to say 'video' in the middle there.

"And your mother could not find another way, as you had?" he asks.

"My mother…" I hesitate. "No. She didn't want to, but even if she did…it would've come with stigma to admit to her problems, so she didn't. For…a long time."

Solas looks away to climb up the ladder. "So Hyndel agreed in order to prove to himself that his mother's pain was insignificant. And he was wrong."

The look on that kid's face after he'd come out of the frost spell that Solas had somehow modified and cast only on his chest area…was like he was having a revelation.

He'd kind of fallen to the floor and curled into a ball, and there were tears streaming down his face. I talked him through the feelings he was having so he wouldn't easily forget them.

( _That's nothing. When you fear stepping outside and taking a too-deep breath or overtaxing yourself- or just somehow breathing wrong…this fear your mother has every day of her life that she's probably mostly numb to now, but still feels…you will never feel that fear. You couldn't handle it. You will never understand. But you can make life easier for her_.)

After a good half hour of talking him through the whole issue and him recovering and drinking and eating- shaking hands and pale face- he said he wanted to teach the other mages how to make the potions for anyone who'd need them.

I'd clapped him on the back with a grin and watched him flinch and shudder with mild interest. ( _That's good. Make your parents proud, Hyndel. Don't be the spoiled brat every anti-mage asshole expects you to be._ )


	47. Solas POV

She is gone. _Again_.

"I believe she took Varric with her," the Seeker walks up to my tent and stands before where I am pacing as I think.

I stop to glance at her, then resume pacing, "and?"

"And the Dalish hunters followed her as well," the Seeker informs me. "She informed the quartermaster we would be in need of more pelts, food, tents and blankets soon- but not why. Likewise she paid a hunter some gold to find as many Nugs as he possibly could before sundown. And the mages say she took one of their number with her, as well."

"What is she doing?" I ask the air, tired. "She swore not to do this again."

"We shall ask her, when she returns. And she did not precisely _swear_ ," the Seeker replies. "The Arbiter has enough protection to be safe on a journey to wherever it is she has gone. I trust her to return."

That pauses me. I turn my head to stare at her, "you…trust her?" Putting aside that I am not worried she will run away, but that she may die and lose me the mark…that is interesting.

"Is that so surprising?" the Seeker's brows furrow. "I have seen the shape of her heart, the valor of her soul. Why should I not?"

Indeed, why should someone as forthright as the Seeker be suspicious of the machinations underneath? "I am still not certain of her motives myself," I reply in explanation.

She frowns and narrows her eyes at me, "why not?"

"Because no one is that perfect!" I say with a sudden burst of vitriol that seems to come from nowhere. I am rigid and breathe slowly until my hands unclench at my sides.

"I believe she was sent to us by the Maker," the Seeker says. "After seeing who she is and what she does, I can believe nothing else. What do you believe?"

"That she was the victim of some freak accident in a ritual which _should have_ killed _her_ and everyone else," I reply with a grim tone. "Whether it is the design of some divine entity or not, _she_ is not a divine entity. She is a…person," I falter. "Not a god. Or a demigod. There…has to be something. Some way in which she is fallible."

She is a shadow, they are all shadows. Petty, corrupt shadows. Perhaps she is simply the memory of someone particularly virtuous, but how is one to know?

"She is quite fallible," Seeker Cassandra replies with confusion. "She can barely swing a staff- she was taking lessons with that…Vashoth…that…"

"Arisala," I interject.

She nods, "yes. Arisala. She was teaching her the defensive moves she can do in return- then they both began teaching everyone. But she is clumsy. She trips over air, Solas. Air! She slammed bodily into a tree not once but three times! She often forgets names and tasks she is supposed to be doing- I found her lost in Haven once. She'd forgotten which way to go to get to the residential areas."

I chuckle, "that is not quite…what I mean."

"You believe she is too kind," the Seeker asserts.

I sigh, "everyone has prejudices, everyone has…something." She said she simply has _different_ prejudices. How am I to know if she is displaying them if I do not know what they are?

"Do you?" she asks.

"Of course I do," I respond with a self-deprecating tone. "Haven't you heard the Herald berating me for talking down to the Dalish? For arguing with Arisala over proper magical technique?"

"Why _do_ you dislike the Dalish?" she asks.

Huffing, I cross my arms behind my back and grasp my left wrist with my right hand. "They are the only ones who care about the past- about recovering what was lost of the _Elvhen_ people…and yet they close their eyes and their minds to all possibilities- believing only in old stories that have been passed down and twisted and misremembered."

"You don't like them because they don't know what you know?" she asks.

"I don't like that they could find the knowledge they sought if they did not ascribe to _human_ sensibilities," I reply carefully. I will not debate the dangers of magic with a Seeker.

Her lips purse, "have you…spoken to them of the things you know of the past?"

I'm a bit surprised, "does it matter?"

"I…the tale Varric told me of Kirkwall," she looks down and her brows furrow. "The girl, Merrill, the blood mage. She did everything she did, trying to find what her people had hidden, and it almost killed her entire clan."

"I would read that differently," I respond with a dry bite to my voice. "In his book, the way Varric frames it, everyone is foolhardy in their own way. But in this, I would not blame the girl. She knew more of her magic than her Keeper, who was closed-minded and simple. She attempted to reclaim something and was thwarted. With Hawke and their other companions there to contain that demon as it stepped through the mirror, there would have been little danger at all."

"Blood magic would have made her susceptible to the demons' possession," she says.

I chuckle, I can't help it. "I'm sorry, I forget that you associate blood and demons on occasion. It's incredibly amusing, considering blood magic further sets you apart from the Fade. In fact I would say it makes it easier to resist a Demon's lure. But as you have taught them to expect it, that is what happens." I cannot help the sardonic smirk curling my lips, "you see, the Fade conforms to your expectations. If you cut open your wrist and expect a demon to posses you because of it- the demons will leap to fulfill that expectation."

"There have been many who thought themselves strong enough to resist, who succumbed. How do you explain them?" she asks. Not yet angry, but irritated with my assertions.

"There are still expectations, Cassandra," I reply in exasperation. "Whether they believe themselves able to overcome the weakness they perceive, they still perceive the weakness is there."

"Are you saying Demons are only able to posses mages because we believe they will?" she asks, incredulous.

"Yes," I reply. "Ancient _Elvhen_ never experienced possession, though there were spirits everywhere in their society, because they perceived them…" I sigh. "This discussion is pointless. I am not going to convince a Seeker of the Chantry that her people have done this to themselves. Inform me when the Herald returns so that I might tend to her wounds."

And I am certain there will be wounds


	48. Nik POV, Solas POV

I got contact without anyone dying, at least.

"I'm alright, milady really," the mage I'd tapped to come with me is named…I can't remember her name. "They were twitchy and wanted to jump me, but they hesitated when they saw my circle robes, you were right."

I sigh and stop looking for injuries, pursing my lips, "they took you in there for hours- I was almost ready to storm in and get you."

She flushes, "m'sorry to worry you milady, but I had a lot to tell them."

"I figured as much, which is why I didn't," I reply tiredly.

"She's fine, Schemer. Crisis over, and you accomplished what you came for, right?" Varric says. "Should probably start heading back to the Crossroads."

"I told them I'd wait here for a few days in case they wanted to take you up on your offer," she says.

"We'll be in the Crossroads for like, a full week- sealing rifts, resolving disputes, finding some more strongholds. I told Cassandra I wanted to be sure and have a good presence in the area before going…anywhere else." I'm not really looking forward to Val Royeax. I mean…what do I even do? And how am I going to spend all the money I've been saving up for expensive materials in the markets there? What would help the most?

Ugh, I dunno yet..

"Chuckles and the Seeker aren't gonna be happy when we get back," Varric says. "Probably should've left a note or something."

"Solas is treating me like a man treats a noblewoman in Ferelden," I deadpan. "I'm perfectly capable of doing things on my own, and I only promised not to seal rifts without him, not to take him absolutely everywhere."

"Like a man treats a noblewoman?" he asks, obviously confused.

"You know," I flick my wrist. "Man strong. Man smart. Woman weak and stupid." Except replace 'man' and 'woman' with 'immortal' and 'mortal'. Ugh.

He snorts at my caveman diction, "I think it's more that he's worried you're gonna end up doing something dangerous without a healer around."

"I'm a healer!" the mage squawks.

"Not nearly as good as he is, I would assume," I say with a mocking tone of voice and roll of my eyes.

"Hey, cut the guy some slack, Schemer," Varric chuckles. "He's probably not been around people in a decade or so."

That pauses me.

Solas hasn't been around anyone who wasn't a lackey or underling of some kind in a long fucking time, has he?

Well. I guess I'm just gonna have to show him how you're supposed to treat people regardless of station on top of everything else.

He can at least act like he doesn't think we're all incompetent globs of muck on the bottom of his foot.

…he can at least _pretend_ we're people to him.

* * *

 

Solas POV

"You are the highest ranking mage here, so…" the mages have congregated around me in the middle of the Crossroads. It is midday and their duties have been tended to, and now they ask for more. A male mage in threadbare robes is addressing me directly, "what should we be doing now?"

I sigh and shake my head, "whatever you like? If your duties have been attended to, I see no reason for you to pile yet more on."

"But we always had something to do in the circle," one of the smaller mages, a girl more than a woman. "The Templars said it kept our urges to do magic in control so we wouldn't build up and explode."

I peer at her with confusion, "that was a lie. Magic does not 'build up' in such a fashion. Not unless you are consciously willing it to."

The adults sigh. An older woman with long gray hair shakes her head, "we're trying to teach the kids all the things that were wrong with the Circle- but sometimes you miss a step. The rest of us will go stir crazy without something to do…but the younger mages might be able to learn to relax."

My lips purse and I cast my mind back to the discussion I had with the Herald and the Seeker just a few days before. The Herald was excited to try experimenting with magical means to color hair, help in body transmogrification and even asked if it would be possible to make tattoos move.

So I quirk the edge of my mouth in a smile that I hope seems amused rather than tired. "The Herald wanted to know if hair could be…dyed…with magic. If you find the answer to that question for her and submit a report of all your findings, I'm certain she would appreciate it."

They have new energy as they begin to discuss the issue and the younger mages volunteer their hair to be changed- their eyes sparking in excitement as they consider being able to change their appearance.

She was correct when she said they would leap upon the possibility like a bear upon a hunter menacing her cub.

They pair off in groups as I leave them and I can still hear them discussing different methods as I find the Seeker sitting outside her tent, combing her unbraided hair.

She does not normally do this except before bed. "Something in your hair?" I ask.

She huffs and gives me a sideways glance, "I went looking for something in a storage shed. I can feel…things in my hair. I know they probably aren't there, but I needed to comb it out to convince myself."

I chuckle at that, "I could always cast something for you."

"To detect bugs in my hair?" she asks with a raised brow.

"To keep them out of your hair, perhaps," I reply.

"You are less angry now," she comments.

"The object of my irritation is not here to growl at," I explain. "It would waste energy to attempt to preserve that mood, and would impact my performance as a healer besides."

"I had thought you only healed the Herald," she says, beginning to braid her hair anew.

"May I?" I ask.

She pauses and tilts her head at me, "do my hair?"

"I believe you are capable of doing it yourself, but I can weave the spell into your hair more easily if I am in direct contact with it," I say.

She purses her lips and drops her hands into her lap, "go on, then."

I smile blandly and stand to attend to her hair- weaving a barrier into the strands of her hair- something that would repel a sword, if I were so inclined. But that isn't quite normal for a mage in this day and age, is it?

I could do without attempting to ingratiate myself to the Seeker, but I find myself questioning whether it would be wise not to. Befriending her would only benefit me, whereas neglecting to do so could be…well. Perhaps not quite disastrous.

And so if it costs me nothing and could gain me something, why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where that bit of bonding came from at the end. It's cool, though.
> 
> Sorry for the lag in updates guys. I've had a rough week and my depression is fighting me and...ugh. Just...ugh.


	49. Chapter 49

I hadn't expected this reception, but I'd prepared for it.

"Whoa, everybody calm down!" I put my right hand up and bite the third finger of my glove on my left hand, slowly dragging it off.

Meanwhile the mages behind me are resisting the urge to throw up barriers, like I'd asked. Three of them came running after us as we headed for the Crossroads, declaring that they were tired of living in a cave and starving themselves- and so the hunters, Varric and I were escorting them back.

And since no one apparently knows my face yet, aside from the mages- and the people behind me are in old, dirty mage robes…

The soldiers, scouts and Inquisition-aligned mages are all standing on the other side of this conflict in various states of shock, defensiveness and- in the case of the mages, exasperation. I know all of them personally- even if not well- so they know I'm supposed to be here and that I'm not an enemy.

It's just as they begin to shout that fact at the soldiers and scouts holding weapons on me that my left palm is revealed.

And an arrow is loosed.

Right into my shoulder.

It feels like I got hit by something heavier than that. I'm knocked backward with the force of it like I got shoved.

I have enough presence of mind to shout, "don't! Nobody move-" which is when the pain hits me.

I can hear some people shouting something that sounds like 'daft gits!' at people. And someone who tries to touch the arrow in my shoulder and examine the wound- I think I screamed- I don't remember.

I'm caught in a place of pain and grayness, eyes half-closed and only barely taking anything in.

It's a tearing, burning sensation, the pain. I'm good at disappearing into my own head to escape though, so I'm only marginally aware of it. Still, it hurts like a motherfucker.

"She won't let us heal her, she keeps thrashin' around-" one of the mages turn away from me to someone behind her.

He pushes through their line, sighing when he sees me. "Your new friends inform me they were forbidden from throwing a barrier over you," he's irritated, that's for certain. "Stay still, I will try to take the pain away, but it will be difficult if you move. And we are discussing this later."

And thus my time is spent between trying not to move, probably not succeeding- lost in a gray haze- until I'm ultimately rendered unconscious.

Which is…strange this time. I get into the Fade a lot easier than I usually do- is that because I'm injured? Is it because Solas is working magic on me?

Any which way you slice it, I'm here…and…

Everything is burning.

Well, not everything everything. I mean. There's a banner over that tavern-thing that the people have set up that doesn't burn. Ironically enough it's the alcohol left untouched by the blaze.

It's just…memories. Of every time something bad has happened here.

A fire there, a fire here- an inferno that ate up the whole village bar a few buildings there.

And then there's the other disasters. Storms, like tornadoes but filled with lightning- and I mean like, it sparked with energy. Then there's the massacre. I dunno who it was who killed them all, but a man walked through the village at night-when it was still new and mostly mud and straw houses- instead of the wood and stone they have now- and killed everyone then sat down in the square and slit his own wrists.

Eesh. I don't normally experience this kind of thing. Wait…

" **Despair**? **Maybe**?" I call out. " **Fear**?"

" **I am Anguish** ," a woman steps out of the shadows of a nearby building. Or well. I thought it was a woman at first. It's very…feminine androgynous? Clothed in shades of plum and darker and lighter purples. Eyes hidden under its hood, tear tracks of blood running down its pink face…and it sort of…drifted, more than stepped.

" **Anguish** ," I smile. " **Why do you focus on this kind of pain**?"

It gestures at the area around us, " **it is me**." Grandly, like a woman in a soap opera, lamenting. And its voice…it sounds…in pain.

" **It just…fits your nature**?" I ask uncertainly.

Its head dips in agreement.

" **Could you…do me a favor then**?" I gesture at the dreamscape. " **Could you focus on the people living here right now**?"

It turns its head and the landscape changes- and it becomes daytime. I didn't mean right now, but okay.

Noise suddenly starts- where it wasn't before.

Anguish drifts over close to me and makes a small trilling noise, " **the Anguish here is sharper…** "

"You will _not_ ," one of my mages is standing before Cassandra with their arms crossed. I can't see their face, for some reason. I can see Cass's and the Templars…

I can't see Solas's face all that well, either. But he's there, watching from the sidelines. " **Can you speak to him from here**?"

Anguish nods regally.

" **Mind telling him that Nik says if he lets something bad happen to my mages, I'll kick his ass**?" I ask.

It drifts and flutters around the crowd and settles behind Solas, whispering in his ear.

His ear twitches and he tilts his head, frowning. And then his eyes sharpen and glow with dark and smoky gray-blue power as he looks right at me.

I lift a brow at him and turn toward where Cassandra is arguing with the mages.

"-will not have unsupervised rebels running about our-"

"-Arbiter promised them freedom, take that away and we'll have _insurrection_ -"

" **Tell him he should mention how I'd react if I wake up to this bullshit** ," I say and smile. " **If you don't mind**."

Solas sighs and closes his eyes, opening them again to reveal they're back to normal.

She didn't have to say anything, so he could probably hear me. Interesting.

He walks up to Cassandra and the Templars behind her- all tense up.

I walk over to stand closer, knowing I can't do anything and feeling incredibly frustrated because of it.

"If the Arbiter wakes to either this argument or the aftermath, either way- she will be incredibly angry with you for defying her authority," Solas says.

Which, I mean, Cassandra's not really under my-

"I am not _under_ her authority!" Cassandra snaps.

Solas quirks a brow, "the law is. If you break the law, you are subject to punishment. Or are you simply too highly ranked to be held accountable for your actions?"

Cassandra frowns and her eyes dart around and she shakes her head, "there is nothing against this in the Maker's law."

"'No unlawful watching of someone while in a vulnerable position or otherwise,' is the law she made. She made it in response to peeping toms, but I'm certain she would declare that this counts," he says.

I didn't know he knew my laws that well. Not the Maker's laws, but mine.

"We are caring for the rebels," the mage interjects, their voice distorted. "It will be our responsibility to keep them in line. If we can't, we'll call for you."

Cassandra purses her lips, obviously getting ready to say something else.

But one of the Templars behind her moves, and the world around me darkens and becomes less sharp. Solas makes a pained noise and goes down on one knee, gasping for air.

I gape between him and Cassandra. Cassandra is gaping too.

"What are you doing!" she shouts and turns to face them.

But more are gearing up to attack the others and the one who- who- fuck, did he smite him!? He's moving closer. By degrees- he wants first crack at Solas.

" **Can you wake me up in time to get there**!?" I ask the spirit. "I'll **come back later if you'd like to speak with me** ," I add with a smile when it seems hesitant.

It lifts a hand to my face and suddenly I'm blinking up at the canvas of a tent- and I'm wide awake, wowza that's like being kicked in the teeth with ice!

I leap out of bed and stop on my feet to grit my teeth and hiss through the pain of straining the stitches in my shoulder.

Fuck it.


	50. Solas POV

The pain of a Templar's smite is something I never thought I'd have to prepare for. If I was careful enough, nonthreatening enough- I hoped I could get away without ever experiencing one.

I was wrong, I suppose. Foolish to assume there is any way to escape the wrath of someone who believes they are owed your body and your pain.

There is no way to escape that. No amount of slouching, looking at the ground, wearing plain clothes and speaking with humility will keep you from that danger. I thought I'd learned that lesson long ago.

"Shit, Chuckles," Varric is nearby enough to see- but hasn't intervened. His hand is on the stock of his crossbow, ready for a fight- but uncertain which side he should be on, I think.

Side with the Seeker, or with the Mages? Will the Seeker come to her senses at this display?

"I can't believe you didn't fall on your ass," he says.

To be quite truthful, neither can I.

"Everyone keep your swords sheathed, do you hear me?" the Seeker barks at the Templars, all reaching for their weapons.

"Lady _Arbiter_!" one of the mages shouts. "You should still be asleep!"

"BACK THE FUCK OFF!" her voice is different. Lower, more full of rage than I have ever heard. Why?

I lift my head as much as I can, to see her sprinting from the direction of the healing tents, where I'd left her. She is not a ghostly form this time- not contacting me from the Fade-

That was a surprise. Remembering it is distracting me, it bears further consideration, but not now.

I am shocked that she does not simply stop and stand between the Templars and Mages. In fact her foot moves in an action too fast to block and too unexpected to anticipate- knocking the Templar who had been edging toward me onto his back. Some hooking motion behind his ankle with her foot…

And then she is there, atop him, foot slammed into his chest plate and snarling down at him. "DID YOU FUCKING _SMITE_ HIM?"

The Templars either draw their swords or back warily away from her.

She lifts her head to stare at them, eyes burning with that fury I have noticed before. But it is not simply a burning flame this time. It is as if cold lightning snaps in her gaze.

"Leave. Now," she hisses. "Those of you unable to take orders are hereby banned from Inquisition territory. Don't even fucking argue with me, Cass- they would've fought you, too."

The Seeker shuts her mouth and shakes her head. She disagrees with the…banishment, but cannot argue. The Inquisition must be seen as a united front. As it is…what was I…?

Soldiers waiting on the sidelines before, now move forward to ring more tightly around the area. Suggesting force if orders are not complied with.

The Dalish hunters are part of the crowd, menacingly baring their teeth and brandishing daggers. Most of the Soldiers leaping to follow her word are elves, I see. Scouts, as well. A few humans, a dwarven woman- that Scout we met on the way in. Harding, I believe, was her name.

"Solas?" she is there suddenly, before me. She was just standing over the Templar a moment ago, was she not? "Hey…it's okay, breathe…" she kneels and takes hold of my shoulders and frowns when she feels me shake. I believe I am having trouble breathing, though I cannot hear myself breathe or feel the breath in my lungs, so I cannot be sure.

"We 'ave tea for mages when they've been smited, milady," one of the mages…I cannot see them. All I can see are her eyes. "Won't bring the magic back, but it'll feel less…horrible."

"Tea?" she asks, "is it an herbal mixture we can make lots of? Can we make it into other things? I need to ask questions, but yes get him some, please."

Her attention returns to me, "thanks for saying something. I…didn't think they'd do that with Cassandra standing right there, and I didn't think she'd attack you for just talking, so I thought…"

I feel myself choke on a sigh, the numbness in my body beginning to…drain away. Leaving aches and pains in its place.

"Okay, come on, we'll put you in your bedroll and you can just…sleep or meditate or something," she helps me up. Arm around my waist, my arm over her shoulder- I can't feel it, yet. That is good, I don't know that I wouldn't flinch away in this state if I could. I might fall over without her assistance, so that would be…unwise.

It is so strange to be able to think perfectly fine, with the normal amount of cognizance, and yet have your body be unresponsive to your wishes. Uncomfortable, distressing.

She takes me to our personal campfire and into my tent- I hadn't even realized she was speaking with Varric on the way. I was too focused on keeping myself on my feet.

"Shit, Schemer, I've never seen anything like that. Even Hawke's never taken on a whole squad of Templars in his jammies before," Varric chuckles uneasily.

She is…not wearing much, is she? The clothes we tended her in, which…is a thin tunic that fastens around the neck for easy access to chest wounds and a pair of cotton pants.

"Yeah well, I got wind of what was going on and only had time to get up and run," she replies, helping me down onto my bedroll. "Hey, Solas," she sits in front of me where I am struggling to remain upright. "Keep your eyes on me, okay? I'd chatter at you in _Elvhen_ if I knew more of it," she mutters the last bit of that.

"How do we know those guys won't just go straight to that Templar Encampment and bring 'em all down on us?" Varric asks.

That is a worry, isn't it?

Why does my skin tingle and why do my ears hurt?

"Milady, I've some of the tea," the mage from before walks into the tent and hands Nik a cup of incredibly bitter and disgusting brewed tea.

I believe I am making a face, because Nik looks at me and giggles. "It'll make everything less horrible, apparently. So it's a little horrible now to make it less horrible- or you can just keep feeling like you are now until it goes all the way away."

I can feel the grimace I pull at that, reaching out to take the cup from her and drinking the tea in one go, coughing and putting a hand over my mouth to keep it down. At least they strained it, I suppose.

"Schemer? The Templars?" Varric prompts.

Nik sighs, "we're moving the mages up to the fortress with the refugees anyway. All that'll be left here is Soldiers and Scouts and some merchants and they'll all fall back to the fortress if they need to. It's as safe as I can make it, for now."

The warmth of the tea that I swallowed- I should say the heat- it nearly scalded me, is beginning to suffuse my limbs with a bit more sensation. I am no longer feeling strangely disembodied and yet trapped in place. My arms and legs, fingers and toes move more freely at my direction…

My ears still ache, for some reason.


	51. Chapter 51

Solas doesn't seem to like touching a whole lot.

I attended to him when I wasn't getting attended to myself for that wound in my shoulder- getting him more of the tea, dumping oodles of sugar into it to hopefully make it taste less horrible to him among other things.

"Stop _fussing_ , you are _injured_ ," he says for about the third or fourth time in the past hour.

I huff and shove the bowl of stew into his hands, "Solas, this is how I cope. I just got shot by an arrow and it's easier for me to focus on your pain than mine, that cool with you?"

His lips part and then close and then he's eating the stew without further complaint, though his ears are turning pink at the tips again.

That's cute. He's not supposed to be cute. Intimidating, sometimes. Endearing, a lot. Maybe grim. But cute? That's just unfair.

"We need to talk about what you did," he says as I fetch my own bowl from my cot and sit down.

I sigh, "you mean getting shot or the thing before that?"

"All of it," he replies dryly. "As to the first, why did you tell the mages not to barrier you?"

"Because the men would've attacked, thinking we were about to start fighting," I reply. "I wanted them to hesitate. I should've taken off my glove before then but I was distracted trying to reassure the three mages I was bringing home."

"Why did you leave without myself and Cassandra?" he asks. Barely containing the irritation- the effort is appreciated, but it still gets my hackles up.

"I promised to take you to seal rifts, not everywhere else," I respond. "You keep treating me like glass and acting like you get to tell me what to do beyond just the mark and it's starting to piss me off." I haven't felt this rebellious since the last time I spoke to my father, and that was…well, it was over something a lot more important. "And Cassandra would've either been attacked on sight or would've attacked or made to attack at the exact wrong moment. Beyond that, Varric is a known friend of the Champion of Kirkwall, the guy who's lover kick-started the rebellion."

He stares across the tent at me and purses his lips. "I hadn't expected that you'd put that much thought into it," he says.

"I put more thought into it than that," I reply. "I put more thought into eating and sleeping than most people do, as well as everything else- other people wonder what they want for breakfast, I wonder what I should eat to support whatever activities I'll be doing that day. Something light but nutritious for vigorous activity? Something that won't hurt coming up if it comes to that?"

He eyes me with something like suspicion, "and what calculation did you engage in when you ran out between the mages and Templars just this morning?"

I open my mouth and kind of halt there, my face beginning to turn red. I close my mouth and huff, "it doesn't count if I'm magic drunk. And I didn't get between the mages and Templars." I grumble it a little.

He quirks a brow at me, "oh?"

"I got between the Templars and everyone else," I pout. "The mages aren't the only ones who'd have gotten hurt…and that _one_ was going to kill you."

He hums, "I am not the last hope for Thedas."

"That doesn't mean you don't _matter_ ," I say with a frown and start scooping stew into my mouth.

I feel a brush of cold and shiver. I'm wearing more than I was this morning, enough not to be chilled- do the runes need re-charging already?

I glance around and Solas is doing that eye-glowing thing again, watching me with intensity.

I shrink a little, "what?"

"You've a spirit attached to you. Some form of Despair, I think," he says.

I blink, "oh, Anguish? Yeah, I promised to talk to it again if it could wake me up fast. I felt like I'd fallen in the snow or something, _yowza_."

His brow furrows even as his lips twitch and he clears his throat, the glowy-ness disappearing from his eyes. I wouldn't notice if I weren't so aware of what his eyes normally look like. They don't shine or anything. It's not that bright. "You promised it something?"

"I made sure not to promise it anything more than another visit.  I just can't sleep again yet. I've got stuff to do," I shrug and then flinch at the twinge in my shoulder.

"Stuff to do, with an injured shoulder?" he asks carefully. Carefully not sounding as disapproving as he looks, staring into his bowl. Like he's trying to hide it from me.

"Varric's written all the letters I needed done for me," I say. "And Cassandra's promised to help me with things that I need to do- she's gonna braid my hair for me if it gets loose or pick up heavy things for me. Stuff like that."

She braided it for me this morning, after a lecture about stepping in the middle of what could have been a battle without any armor even- and she also argued for a while over banishing the Templars. But she agreed they were getting out of hand and that we didn't need any soldiers who wouldn't follow orders.

She told me to consider the work program next time, but they hadn't actually done anything wrong yet, and then I had to explain the difference between attempted crimes and crimes that were followed through on…

"You are extremely calm over the fact that a spirit seems to have attached itself to you until you can visit it in the Fade," he says with his brow furrowed and his mouth resolutely staying a line while his eyes spark with something. "You were not a mage before, I am told. And when I tend you, I can feel no magic in you besides the mark."

"Where I'm from-" I pause and flush. "That's a long conversation. Can we have it later?"

"When you are free," he says with that smooth tone of voice he gets sometimes in-game. Though usually only when he's either flirting or manipulating. "I look forward to it."

Shit, I'm interesting.


	52. Chapter 52

I managed to avoid the discussion about back home and why I'm not afraid of spirits, yesterday.

Solas is watching me a lot more, and it's starting to unnerve me. He's examining me, looking for something and I can't give him whatever it is. I have to be uninteresting. But I can't lie, not to him. Not to any of them.

Ugh. I should've moved things along a lot slower…

But then I think of all the Elves that would have been beaten, raped and murdered in the meantime while I was trying to be subtle- and the mages that would've likely been worked to death or tranquilized and…I can't regret moving this fast.

Cassandra and I are walking with the Dalish hunters- going to meet Blackwall. So I don't have to worry about seeing him again today until later on. Hopefully I remembered right and there are no rifts on the way from this direction.

Leliana caught on to my hints about the Gray Wardens being at the Conclave with the colors and shit, so now we're finding the only Gray Warden we can pin down.

Solas and Varric both had different reactions to being left behind. Solas was tight-lipped but refrained from chewing me out or protesting and Varric was actually happy for the reprieve so he could catch up on some spymaster work and make new connections in the Crossroads.

Anguish was happy to see me last night, I think. As happy as Anguish can be- soft and sort of more like sadness than anguish for a moment when it saw me, I guess would be the way to put it? Anyway…I shared some bad memories with it. Things from my own memories- things that were cathartic to get out, show off and then let go of.

I might have to seek out Anguish again while we're still around, tonight. Hopefully I don't fuck up and end up sending myself into a spiral.

"You've begun integrating the villagers and Mages in Winterwatch Tower," Cassandra observes. "Your methods for doing so are…strange."

"Questions?" I ask as we tromp through the woods. I'm envious of Shivanas and his hunters, drifting nearly soundlessly through the woods. Probably only making noise to avoid startling me every few seconds, too.

"You've explained before, that mages feeling useful and others perceiving them as such would lead to a more harmonious air in the Inquisition…but I do not see the…why do you have them making clothes, formulating dye for hair-"

"That was Solas, actually," I reply and try to fight off a smirk. "They were bugging him so he gave them something to do. He didn't say that outright, but I gathered they were suffocating him from the way he told it. I was going to ask, but…I kind of wanted to get Dahlia on it with me, for fun." I shrug and smile.

"But why?" she asks. "It seems so…frivolous."

"Oh, most definitely," I reply. "And who likes to buy frivolous things at incredibly high prices, especially if they're completely new and unique?"

Her eyes spark with comprehension, "another source of funds for the Inquisition?"

"For me and the mages," I reply. "If I can support the mages, the servants, myself and also for most of the Inner Circle's needs- that frees up Inquisition funds to do other things."

She nods thoughtfully.

"Also," I smile at her surprise. No one ever asks for more reasons unless they're unsatisfied with the ones that've already been given. "People need fun things to do. Fun, pressure-free things. Things that make them feel useful and productive, but without the usual…well. People usually work with this weight hanging over them. They have to work to live. But small projects to earn money on the side that aren't actually jobs will help with that pressure."

"I see," she responds. "And what are your…small projects?"

I blink in surprise, "you've seen 'em. The entire Inquisition is filled with small projects I've taken on."

"And that is…fun for you?" she asks with a furrowed brow.

I grin, "oodles."

"You were right," Shivanas melts out of the shadows at my right and I jump sideways into Cassandra. "Herald?"

"God, not another one," I gasp and lean weakly into Cassandra.

She inclines her head to him to report and he inclines back. They've been having a kind of stand-off in terms of…equilibrium. They can't figure out where they stand in relation to each other.

It's hilarious.

"There are bandits making their way toward the clearing," he says.

"Figures somebody would be out for a Gray Warden to ransom or…just kill for sport, I guess," I grimace. "Can your guys pick them off from the back when they attack?

"We _do_ have bows," he says and melts back into the shadows.

"Aim for the archers first," I respond.

An affirmative hum is the only thing I hear as he moves away.

"You need to stay here," Cassandra says.

I shrug, "oh, most definitely."

She gives me a weird look.

"Cass, are there any children or Elves or other Nonhumans involved in this?" I ask. "Are there other people already trying to handle the situation?" I quirk a brow and tap my temple with my forefinger. "I only jump in when no else is, most of the time. Or if my jumping will make some kind of difference."

She tilts her head and regards me solemnly for a moment, "you are far more thoughtful than Solas gives you credit for."

I snort, "yeah. Well…I have a feeling his estimation of everyone around him is a lot lower than anyone thinks. We'll get along…we just have a bumpy road ahead of us all."

She hums in agreement and walks through the last ring of trees to the clearing. She has a whole bridge thing to walk over, so I've got time to…think.

About that lake.

With the spirit in it.

And the ram, over there...


	53. Chapter 53

I managed to get the Ram to come to me after whispering 'pssst, Woolsley!' a couple dozen times from behind a tree and finally getting its attention. I gestured at it to get away from the treeline, pantomiming people with arrows and it trotted past me, easy as you please.

So I let it know that its family was worried about it, and it paused to glance back at me. ( _Protect them well. They're going to need you_ ) I said to it.

And then it took off and all of a sudden there were bandits and shouting and the clashing of metal against metal and metal against wood- and the Dalish were taking down the guys with crossbows with their bows and arrows-

It was all very fast.

Cassandra put down two men just by ramming into them with her shield and letting someone behind her finish them off as she continued storming forward to come out the other side. Someone shot one of the warriors before they could turn and attack her back.

Blackwall took down three of them with quick, decisive movements of his sword- and they thought they had him surrounded.

He had to tackle Cass out of the way of the crossbow bolt, instead of, you know- catching it in his shield, which makes more sense.

So…I walk across the landbridge on the upper half of the river, across sandy ground and hopping over spots of river and…then I'm flanked on both sides by two Dalish hunters- with two more in the trees, I'd wager.

I pause and turn around to see Shivanas guarding the back center and bite my lip when he stops and tilts his head at me. "Can I ask why you guys are so…protective? Why your Keeper had you come with me?" Dalish aren't all that trusting. No matter what language I speak or how respectful I am of them, this seems…off.

He says, "if you aren't what you seem, we'll know. Otherwise, you're essential to save Thedas, apparently. And if you manage to elevate our position while doing so…" he shrugs.

"So you're not only protecting but spying and testing?" I'd half-thought that, but didn't really think they'd give up five of their best hunters- I mean…they could've just given me an assistant or just sent Shivanas for that.

"That," he nods slowly. "And the Keeper's first impression of you was a young girl without any knowledge of the world."

Wonderful.

I groan, "how old does she think I am?"

"In between fifteen and twenty," he shrugs again, this time smirking.

"I'm twenty-four!" I exclaim.

His brows raise, "really?"

"Yes," I make a disgusted noise and turn on my heel to walk over to Blackwall and Cassandra who're facing us and watching the whole production with curiosity and confusion. "God, I've got _chaperons_."

There's laughter from the hunters at that.

"Warden Blackwall?" I ask when we get close enough, "lovely to meet you."

"You're the Arbiter of Haven, then?" he glances at Cassandra and she nods. "All this for some washed up old Gray Warden? What's going on?"

I glance at Cassandra with surprise.

"You should be the one to tell him," she says.

So I do.

I tell him about the explosion that caused the Breach, watched his expression darken at the mention of the Divine's supposed death and then summarized the events since I sealed the first rift.

"So Leliana figures I was seeing Gray Warden armor, and looking at yours-" I gesture at the blue, white and silver armor with the griffons on it, "I can say it's a definite possibility."

"But Wardens aren't political, we don't get involved in things like this," he says while frowning.

"That's actually not as true as you think," I say, accidentally cutting off whatever Cassandra was about to say. And she looks surprised, but lets me talk. "There've been a few instances of Wardens attempting to equalize Thedas, or save it from itself or even tried to take control of the current government for whatever reason. It's just been isolated cells that were stomped out pretty quickly, so the Wardens mainly keep it quiet."

"How do you-" Cassandra pauses. "Leliana gave you the reports?"

"On Gray Wardens, a few?" I reply with some confusion. "I heard the Hero of Ferelden uncovered some of those secrets, though."

She inclines her head and her eyes go far away as she looks off toward the cabin nearby- lost in thought.

"What is it you need from me?" he asks.

"Well, we're looking for Gray Wardens. Trying to figure out what happened. You're likely not involved, or you'd have disappeared too. Help us find out what's going on?" I ask.

Cassandra glances at me with surprise again, but turns her gaze to Blackwall with a nod, "a Gray Warden would be a great help to us. Connection to other Wardens notwithstanding, you are a great warrior, so I have seen."

He grunts and starts wiping his sword off- with a cloth from his belt. "I suppose I could help, if you're trying to keep Thedas from being swallowed by…" He looks up at the sky in the direction of the Breach, "that thing. I have treaties that could be useful, as well."

"We can't use Blight treaties for the Breach," I veto and glance up at Cassandra. "If we try, people could rebel against being made to help against something they didn't sign up for- then what?"

Blackwall and Cassandra both make noises, Cassandra's disgusted and Blackwall's thoughtful.

They glance at each other and Cassandra sighs, "I suppose we should head for camp then. If you are to join us, we will have to…outfit you." She gestures at his armor. "That armor has seen better days, as has your sword."

They do both seem kinda worn. If they're Blackwall's original pieces, then that'd make sense.

He frowns, but I speak before he can refuse.

"We can just refurbish everything you have, if you'd rather not have new. I know it would be hard to get your hands on Warden armor for replacements at the moment," I smile.

He shows some warmth at that, his mustache and beard curving in a smile, only a hint of his mouth even showing. "Alright then."

"I have an errand to run, real quick, Cass." I look up at her. "I'll follow behind you guys, walk slow and I might catch up before you make it back to camp."

She gives me a look.

"Shiv's right there," I point to the Dalish at my back. "And his hunters are on me. On _it_. On it." I flush at the laughter that starts up at that and I can hear one of them mutter something about 'could be on _you_ too, if you like' and that just makes it worse. "Just…a minute?"

She sighs deeply and shrugs. "You will explain to Solas if you are late, not I."

Fssss. That actually made me flinch.


	54. Nik POV, Solas POV

The hunters found the Blood Lotus, but I didn't ask them to pick it for me. I waded into the water of the pool below us and harvested the herb myself after one of them gave me a little dagger- more like a large knife- and instructed me on how to do it.

Apparently if you leave enough stem behind, they'll re-sprout. Awesome.

So I go around the whole pool and soon enough have a good handful of Blood Lotus. "Okay…back up the hill," I mutter to myself.

"You never said what this was for…?" Shivanas asks as we tromp back around the incline toward the cabin we left just a minute ago.

"An offering," I respond. "Your clan probably has rituals to make offerings to spirits sometimes, don't they?"

He hums uneasily, "we usually have the Keeper around for that."

"It won't require a circle or summoning. This particular spirit doesn't actually want to come up or through or whatever. It likes Blood Lotus and I'm…in need of something, that it might be able to provide. If not, whatever it gives me will be fine. I'll find a use for it." I shrug.

Shivanas gestures behind my back, and I'm assuming they're preparing for me to be wrong. Can't blame them, I mean. They don't really know me from Adam, so…

We walk across the dock to the tiny bowl and Shivanas is the only one with me, sticking incredibly close, with one hand on his sheathed dagger.

I sigh and give him a look, "back up. Draw your bow if you want, but get to the end of the pier, okay?"

He purses his lips but drifts backwards, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow, pointing it at the ground as his feet touch earth again at the other end of the pier. The other four are standing around behind him. All ready to leap into action.

I sigh and turn to the tiny bowl, kneeling to hold the Blood Lotus above the bowl and then blushing because they're all going to have to hear me ask for what I want. "His staff is splintery and broken and I need..something. A focus for a staff or some materials to make one…something that won't splinter if he's careful, something that would feel…natural to him?" I hint.

I'm talking as quietly as I can, hoping the others can't hear me- but they probably can.

And then I drop the Blood Lotus.

And the bowl flips over the lake, then flips back up when the Lotus has fallen into the water. Like it's on a hinge!

I blink at it, "Uh…cool."

Then something is fairly thrown at me from the lake and I have to put both my hands up to catch it as it smacks into me and throws me backward. "Oof!"

"Are you alright?" Shivanas is creeping down the dock.

"Yeah, fine," I grumble. "It just threw it a little too hard…"

And then I sit up and actually see what I'm holding and inhale sharply at the sight of the blown-glass orb with a fingerprint pattern etched into it. It's…it looks just like Solas's orb. Except that it's…more golden? With white etchings. And it's glass instead of rock, and…it looks like something is swirling inside it.

"This isn't a trapped spirit or wisp or something, is it?" I ask with dismay.

The water ripples angrily. I dunno how I know it's mad, I just do.

"Just asking!" I squeak.

It settles back into placid stillness.

I take my pack off, flip it open and pull out one of my spare undershirts, wrapping the glass orb- about the size of my palm- in it and stuffing it in-between two others, hopefully protecting it from any breakage. I have no idea how breakable it is.

"Got what you needed?" Shivanas asks nervously, eyes everywhere but on me, checking the water and surroundings. "Can we go back now?"

"Yeah, yeah we can go back now," I reassure him. That must've been nerve-wracking for them. I'll have to do something nice to make up for it.

* * *

 

Solas POV

"You know she only ever leaves you behind because you're always on her case, right?" Varric and I have been working quietly across from each other at the fire for the whole morning, and he chooses now to speak. And to bring up this topic.

"She left you behind, as well," I point out.

"That was strategy," he waves me off. "There are rifts all over the place, she should never be without you- especially not with how that one ripped open on our way to Winterwatch. But she hardly ever takes you unless she has to."

"Should I bite my tongue, tell her she isn't reckless and pontificate at length about how sensible her choices are?" I ask with more irritation than the conversation really deserves, I know.

"Just talk _to_ her, instead of _at_ her." He scribbles on a few pages in his journal and switches to the cluster of letters he's been sent from Haven after a moment. "Like I did, after the Dalish Rift incident. She took me with her the next time she went off to do something, did you notice that? Maybe if you try acting like she's an equal, she might listen to you."

I make a discontented noise and laugh derisively, "and she treats _me_ as an equal?"

"Yes," he says and glances up at me with confusion. "She's not a Noble, Chuckles. She treats you like she treats other people _like her_."

I pause in the act of turning the page of my sketchbook, frowning at it. "She _has_ to be. From somewhere. Even a bastard child- something. She is too…soft and well cared for."

"She was a writer, like me," he responds.

I glance up in surprise, "she _told_ you this?"

"No, but it's pretty obvious," he responds. "She doesn't really have calluses on her fingers- but she's comfortable writing and she takes so many notes through the day on so many things- in that weird language of hers? And she talks about stories and history and understands people too well. The best authors are the ones who just _know_ people."

And if that were true…I suppose…

"In fact I'd say she treats you _better_ than she treats everyone else," he shrugs. "But that's just my own opinion. You know, the way she always asks your advice on things she doesn't know- the way she always gives your opinion weight, whether she agrees or not…even the way she's been trying to figure out a drink to make for you that'd be better than tea, cause she figured out that you hate it…" he mutters the last part while glancing up from his paperwork.

My stomach drops.

"She doesn't like it when you order her around, that's all it is," he shrugs. "So…try not to do that?"

"Messere Solas, _there_ you are!" the young mage from before- the youngest here, in fact. She bounces with energy, "we found a way to use Fade Energy to make your hair glow green, do you want to see?" Barely fifteen, I think. And surrounded by death. One of the mages that was already assigned here.

Nik was horrified to see her here, she is coming back to Haven with us, or going to Winterwatch- ( _kids her age should be afraid that the girl or boy they like doesn't like them back- not that their patient might die_!)

It is difficult to refuse a child, especially a mage child. Her exuberance is echoed in her magic- almost right. Almost what it should be. Humming to the tune of her happiness.

I smile wanly, "I suppose I should, if only to be certain it is safe."

Her beaming smile causes a ripple of energy in her magic, but I must extrapolate its meaning, rather than feeling it.

How cold the world is when you can no longer…feel others.

I wonder who she is a memory of.


	55. Chapter 55

Solas doesn't normally _hang out_ with other mages.

I mean, he _does_ teach them things if they ask questions about…like…unorthodox potion making or recipes for stuff that's kind of obscure- or even advice about how to properly do a spell they can't seem to get right.

But when I come back and Cassandra nods off toward the mage's area of the Crossroads- the healer area, I guess I should call it- I find him doing just that.

Hanging out with the mages, I mean.

There's a teenage girl excitedly showing him bowls filled with the dye they've been playing around with- he didn't think of that eventuality, huh? And she's just so excited and he just…

Smiles at her.

Like, that soft smile people get on their faces when they're indulging a child's antics? It's…I get stuck staring at the edge of the Healer's area for a minute, just sorta standing there and watching.

"He's pretty good with kids," Varric appears at my elbow.

I inhale sharply and go still, fists clenching. "You are sooo lucky your voice is immediately recognizable to me."

He chuckles. "You seem surprised to see him like this," he says. "To be honest, I was too. The guy doesn't seem to like people much."

We're at the far end of an area filled with injured people still getting tended and healers and scouts chattering at each other, so hopefully he can't hear us.

I wouldn't assume he can't, though.

"I'd imagine inquisitive children would be welcome to ask him all the questions they like," I drawl. "Feeding his ego is probably…that's mean, isn't it?" I grimace. "But god, he pisses me off _so much_."

Varric snorts, "yeah, started as the Elf, shifted to Daisy and then right into Hawke."

I pout at him, "am I wrong? Am I being unfair?"

He shrugs, "not really, but probably a little. I mean, I'm a biased source. So…"

He grins at the way I groan.

"Herald," Solas appears.

And I shriek and jump backwards, "god _damn_ it!"

Everyone laughs if they're close enough to see what happened. Solas and Varric chuckle at me.

I huff and feel my body start to heat up- so my entire head's probably turning red. "Why can't you people just make noise! Rogues and Elves, I swear to god!"

"Perhaps you should be more aware of your surroundings," Solas quips. How many times has he said that now?

"That would involve actually engaging in reality more than necessary," I say and make a face before I can think about it. And then I blush harder and clear my throat a little uneasily. "Uh…need something?"

He tilts his head and stares at me for a second as I avoid his eyes. "I would like to have that discussion now, as we're not due to travel to Dennet's farm until morning tomorrow."

Internally cursing, I smile with tight lips. "Sure…why not."

He frowns, "if you'd prefer-"

"I don't like talking about myself, or…anything to do with where I came from," I say. "So let's just…rip off the bandage, okay?"

His lips purse and he nods once, looking more grim than the situation demands, I think.

"I've got new connections we should discuss when you're done, so come find me when you've got time," Varric says and bows regally. "Lady Herald of Andraste."

I roll my eyes, "ugh. I'll find you later, you horrible man." I hope to god no one saw that.

I just convinced the servants to stop bowing to me and salute instead- they were horrified when I told them they could just call me 'Nik'- so I've settled for 'Lady Nik', too. If he's started up the bowing again…

He turns and walks off, chuckling to himself the whole way. Asshole. Gotta love Varric.

Solas gestures when I look back to him, off toward the path through the Crossroads.

I bite my lip and walk next to him, dreading this conversation. "Where was I when we stopped before?" I ask.

He hums, "You were explaining why you didn't find spirits frightening or alarming, even knowing one had attached itself to you, momentarily. And how you knew how to make a deal with it."

"Right…well. First thing is…there hasn't been magic in the place I lived, for…a long time, if there ever was. Maybe the Veil's just really strong or something," I shrug. "Anyway. I grew up in a pretty isolated environment, but I was…fascinated with stories…all kinds. Especially mythologies of religions, though."

"Searching for meaning, or merely academic?" he asks.

"I dunno, both and neither," I laugh. "I mostly just…needed something to do. It was interesting, it kept my mind off…other things. So I delved into it as deeply as I could go. Ended up learning a lot about magical creatures and Equivalent Exchange and…all of that."

"You were never taught to fear Spirits?" he asks, regarding me with those eyes that seem like dagger points, sticking straight into my soul.

"Well, I was, sort of. Demons. But even they…well. In different mythologies they have different functions," I stutter and stumble through my words. Damn it. "And…where I'm from there's a whole holiday dedicated to scary things. The dead, monsters, spirits- it's said the Veil between this world and the next thins on that day, but as I said- no magic. So it was probably just wishful thinking-"

He makes a small noise, "wishful thinking for the Veil to _thin_?"

I realize how weird that sounds. "Uh…well. They thought their dead loved ones might come back for a visit," I explain awkwardly.

His expression settles into pained melancholy, "ah. I suppose I'd wish for any number of ruinous things to get back…" his eyes flicker to me, "people _I've_ lost, as well."

"I think there's lots of people who'd tear apart the world for their lost loved ones," I say carefully. "But why would you? They must be happier away from all the suffering- even if they've just shifted to another reality or something- they don't have the same problems anymore. And how do you even know it'd work, right? You could just…end up ending the world, instead."

"I suppose that is a very mature way to view it," he says with something like dismissal, _damn it_ \- and stops at the end of the lane to turn and look at me. "Would you mind if I ask…why you refuse to look at me?"

I glance up and then away from his eyes, "I…don't normally like looking in people's eyes."

"Varric and Cassandra don't seem to bother you," he says.

"Well they don't…they don't pierce with their eyes," I say with a nervously darting glance at his face. He looks surprised, why is he surprised? "Your eyes are…sharper. Than theirs."

His head tilts, though I'm not really looking at him, I can see the movement. "My eyes are sharp?" his tone is half amused, half…confused?

"Well…yes?" I say with confusion of my own. "Nobody's ever told you that, before?"

"I…don't believe so?" he says slowly. "But I have…noticed," his mouth opens and closes, "well, I just thought people were very…incredibly busy doing something or…that they were nervous around a mage. Or dismissive of an elf."

I laugh a little, slapping a hand over my mouth and darting a glance at his face.

Furrowed brows, ears flicked back, looking very confused- "this is why people don't normally look at me?"

And I just lose it, laughing so loud I think I alarm a few people while Solas grumbles something about 'how am I supposed to know what my own eyes look like? I don't spend all day staring at myself in a mirror, gauging my expressions…'

Which just makes it worse.


	56. Solas POV

"What do you mean, _no_?" the Herald looks at Seeker Cassandra incredulously.

Dennet's wife watches with eyes squinted against the sun,  darting a look back and forth as they argue.

It's unlikely anyone's ever advocated on her behalf before, unless it was her husband. Someone like Nik, with glossy hair and clean skin- an obvious Noble or Scholar, standing up for you, a farmer, must be strange.

"We are not dedicating Inquisition resources to resolving a _pest_ problem," she says. "Our guards will protect the horses on their way-"

"What about the people who _live here_ , Cassandra?" she asks in exasperation. "I'm not all that crazy about killing Wolves, but I still think it needs to be done to protect _them_!"

I will have to ask about that, later, perhaps.

"And what Inquisition resources? Why can't _you_ just do it? Are a bunch of wolves really-" she is beginning to gesture emphatically. Which means she is getting frustrated. The mark is beginning to fluctuate with energy- as it does when she becomes emotional. I have not…discovered a way to fix that, just yet.

"Solas says they may be possessed by a Demon!" Seeker Cassandra responds.

"You're a Seeker of TRUTH!" she snaps. "You're supposed to be like the UBER-Templars!"

I've no idea what 'ooh-burr' is supposed to mean, but I gather it means a level above. Such strange sayings…

"I will not do this, discussion over!" the Seeker returns.

The Arbiter stands straight and tall and quirks a brow at her, "suppose _I'll_ just have to do it, then."

The Seeker's face pales, "what? NO!"

How did she not see that coming?

"Too late, I'm doing it," She turns and marches off in the direction of the small campsite we set up on Dennet's property. "Varric, Solas, are you coming? I'm getting Blackwall and Shiv."

Varric is trying incredibly hard not to make noise, snorting into one of his hands as he turns to follow her.

I sigh and spin on my heel.

"You cannot honestly intend to _go_ with her!" the Seeker exclaims.

I turn to look over my shoulder at her, quirking a brow, "shall I let her go alone? Or with only Varric, Blackwall and Shivanas to protect her?"

The other Hunters have been sent on a task to feed everyone in the Crossroads as much as they possibly can. Berries, roots, mushrooms, meat- her request was for them to find anything they could, and what the refugees would or could not eat, they could pack away for their meals tomorrow.

Shivanas stayed behind, of course.

The Seeker purses her lips as I turn back around and walk quickly to catch up to Varric.

The Arbiter marches into camp and explains the situation to the Warden sitting on a stump and smoking a pipe, while Shivanas looks on with amusement at her indignant gesturing.

Blackwall hums as we walk up, considering the situation. "Sounds like something that needs to be done. You can count on me, Arbiter. Now?"

She shakes her head, "we need to make sure we're stocked up and let everyone get their armor and weapons checked over. In an hour?"

"I'll be ready," he nods.

She turns to me, then, "I need to ask you something."

"Ask away," I reply. I am more comfortable answering her questions after she allowed me to ask mine, to my own contentment on the subject, yesterday.

Shivanas gets up to follow as she waves me off toward the other side of the clearing nearby, but she looks back and points at him very authoritatively with narrowed eyes.

He smirks, puts his hands up and sits back down. He is entirely too smug about everything. His refusal to give her breathing room came to a head just this morning when she found him waiting for her outside her tent.

She very grumpily asserted boundaries and informed him that young women often found men waiting right outside their rooms to be threatening. In such a way as to imply that of course she did not, but that was beside the point.

It was amusing to watch.

He has respected her rules so far. Not coming to find her or breathe down her neck when she is within sight or earshot. Though he toes the line remarkably often.

"Okay…so you know a lot about the Ancients, right?" She stops on the hill and turns to sit on the root of the tree growing there.

I tilt my head and regard her with curiosity. Ever since she told me of her home and their…unorthodox religions and views of spirituality…I've been a bit more at ease, I suppose. She is strange because she was raised that way. It makes more sense to me. "I learn as much as I can," always careful, never a liar.

Never what they turned me into.

Her lips quirk and her scar turns the sweet smirk into something darkly mischievous, "what did they work magic with? Staffs, staves and other things like that? Wands? Blades?"

"Blades?" I ask, with surprise. Not many know of the Arcane Warrior discipline and they usually always assume the sword they can conjure from the Fade is the only way to do it.

"There were little knives…like Daggers?" she says uncertainly. "It's called an Athame, it was used in…magic rituals where I'm from. Or what they thought were magic rituals, I guess. It was more…spiritual ritual, I guess. And you couldn't use them as weapons, but…"

"You… _can_ use swords and daggers, yes," I reply slowly. "But it is unlikely any mages who are circle trained will know how without an instructor."

"Well yeah, they'd have to learn to use the new weapon, but would the channeling of power still be basically the same, but with hacking and slashing instead of shooting?" she asks, eyes bright and inquisitive.

I think that over for a moment, "I…believe so. Your attacks would have the capacity for range, but…the swords would need focuses, such as the…"

"The glass orbs on the top of staffs?" she asks excitedly.

I feel my face…I'm not sure. It's shifted and I resettle it into my casual mask once again. I don't even know how I looked at her, I'm too unpracticed at allowing myself to…feel and show what I feel. It would be dangerous to be in that habit, regardless. "Yes."

"What about materials?" she asks. "For the staffs? What was the best materials, and do they still exist?"

"Are you planning to make one?" I ask, amused.

"Yeah," she responds, surprisingly enough. "I want to design a few for my mages."

My mouth curves at one edge, "you are going to spoil them."

"Nah, I haven't given them ice cream for dinner yet," she says, confusingly.

I frown and tilt my head.

An expression of horror dawns on her face. "Oh my god, you don't know _ice cream_?"

I fight back laughter at the sight of her expression, "no I don't believe I do."

"I'm making some, when we get back to the Crossroads, and I'll show all the cooks how- how did I not think of-" she pauses and pouts at me. "We were talking about staffs! And…what do you prefer?" She asks. "Staff or something else?"

I roll my shoulders, feeling the pole between my shoulders, "I have used a staff exclusively since joining the Inquisition."

She makes a face at me. She does not like having that question dodged, I suppose.

I sigh, "what does it matter?"

"Well…" she glances up past my head, "you're gonna need something new, soon. It's all splintery."

My mouth opens, then closes. I reach up to grasp my staff and sigh at the splintered wood under my hand. "I can find a new staff on my own, and it will be still be serviceable for a while yet."

She makes another face, "serviceable. While we're fighting bandits, rogue mages and templars and possibly warring with other Chantry factions?"

I shake my head, "what is it about me that makes people want to buy me things?"

She frowns and then her expression clears, "Varric?"

"He wants to buy me new clothes, a new staff, even a new pack, should I desire it. Why?" I don't understand his need to keep offering even after I've turned him down, either.

"Because he's like me," she replies, cryptically. "Okay, so assuming you'll find your own staff, is a staff what you'd usually use, or are you trained with other weapons? Oh!" she bounces on her root, "did you ever learn any fighting styles from spirits? I heard you could do that!"

And thus, the rest of our allotted hour is spent discussing designs, materials and styles. Of Staffs, Staves, Blades, Mauls- even gloves. She is incredibly eager to learn when she doesn't know something.

I am beginning to think perhaps the Arbiter is simply…very young and sheltered.


	57. Solas POV

I should have known not to answer her when she began asking about Spirits and how to…'un-twist' them.

I thought her interest was purely academic, or even that she would ask her mages to begin coming along to do so- I even thought, perhaps I should teach them personally. She was…enthusiastic about that idea. I was happy to help in any way I could, that might perhaps save a few Spirits additional pain. I was looking forward to it, even.

But then…

"She isn't possessed, right?" Blackwall is carrying her, because he is a warrior and I am a mage.

To let on about how strong I am, how high my endurance is…would be a mistake. Otherwise I would have examined her as we walked. And now that we are on horses, I feel it would be suspicious to ask to hold her when I have already assured them that she is fine. I can only catch the surface of her without touching. "The spirit did not enter _her_ , it entered the _mark_. No, she is not possessed."

"Can't blame me for asking," he says, gruffly. Everything he says is often said gruffly, so far as I have seen. "What did she do to it, anyway? It was attacking us and it looked like a Terror demon, and then…"

"Excitement did not choose to be Terror," I say as we ride toward Haven. She will likely sleep until we get back, or at least until we get close. She…exhausted herself to do this. No damage. It is as if she is a mage and used all her mana. She may even have mana burn. How? "It was pulled through, reality made torment- twisting it, until it was something else. Lashing out in pain and fear."

"So she just…put it back the way it was?" he asks. "Didn't know you could do that with demons."

"With demons, no. With spirits, yes." I sigh and rub my forehead with my fingertips. "She should have told me what she intended to do. I could have done it myself…with help." She shouldn't have been able to. She should have damaged herself if she used the mark, but…

It is as if she was not in control.

She looked shocked and bewildered when her hand leapt forward to smack into the twisted spirit's chest and…pulled at it. It was almost like sealing a rift, it felt…similar enough. But the spirit was helping her to twist itself back- perhaps that is the difference?

Perhaps she did not intend to do it at all.

And with that thought, I feel a bit of chagrin that I was no help in stopping her. After the process began, I was caught up in watching.

Golden green light encompassing the Terror demon, her serene expression as she slowly pulled the parts out that were shoved inside and released the pieces that were stuck. And then how she had fallen to her knees- and there-

There was Excitement, whispering and booming in gratefulness and pleas to be let into the Fade.

( _I can't…open rifts with this thing_ …) she had whispered to it, and it had…offered an alternative option.

And she had accepted. Without hesitation, asserting boundaries- even as the rest of us stared on in shock and dismay at the situation…

We were granted a handful of horses for our ride back to Haven. It appears that Dennet's wife was impressed with the Herald and her efforts, and sought to reward her personally. The horses don't like the mark. I have to actively suppress it with a barrier so it does not leap into a canter, attempting to run away from the girl on its back.

Cassandra didn't want the Herald out in the open while vulnerable and she didn't trust anyone in Winterwatch to keep her safe, just yet.

Truthfully, neither would I. The few that worship her may try human sacrifice to free her from her body and what then?

"This was foolish," Seeker Cassandra huffs from atop her own mount. "She shouldn't have even been there. I thought you would fight for her, not allow her-"

" _Allow_ her?" I say, incredulous. "When have any of us _allowed_ her to do anything?"

Varric laughs, "she didn't even mean to be there, Seeker. She was supposed to sit back and watch- and she was sitting on a boulder. She refused to stay in camp. Said something about maybe there was a rift nearby if there were demons."

"The demon jumped up to her, though, so she had to start running," Blackwall continues the story. "It kept chasing her around, even when she'd hide behind one of us- she kept shouting at us to fight the demon, not the wolves-"

"And then the mark attached to the spirit when it had cornered her away from us," I finish. "I'm uncertain whether she intended to do what she did at all…and that perhaps…if it was possible…that perhaps the spirit could sense the mark could help it, and that is why it focused on her. Chased her."

And after the spirit was gone, the Wolves ran away, finally in control of themselves again. How did she know? I did not even hint at it. My affection for the animals aside, showing compassion for the enemy is often looked upon with suspicion. Even for animals, especially when demons are involved.

Nik is innocent and sweet enough that it makes sense that she would not wish to kill an animal without cause. After my first meeting with the Herald, I thought her headstrong, angry- perhaps even murderous. But the moments in-between didn't fit. She is…soft. With a sharp edge.

I have finally come to the conclusion that she is simply strange because she is young, sheltered and intensely logical and moral. The reason I cannot find selfishness in her, is because it isn't there. Many of the mythologies she recited to me involved the lazy and irresponsible being punished. The selfish smote with holy indignation.

Perhaps that is why she refrains. It could simply be her fear of heavenly reprisal left over from when she believed. She doesn't now…but learned behaviors and fears do not simply melt away that quickly.

"The Keeper wishes to speak with her when we return, but she's a bit too unconscious for that," Shivanas pulls his horse alongside Blackwall to look at her. "She's going to box my ears for letting this happen."

"Why does your Keeper wish her kept safe?" Cassandra asks. "The Dalish are not usually that interested in human affairs, or so I've heard."

"Beyond that she's the last hope we have for the world not to end?" he asks, lifting his brows. "She offered sanctuary, we can only do the same."

There is the flavor of a lie in that. True, but not true enough. I let the subject drop, but I will be paying closer attention to our Dalish 'allies' from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet is put off again guys sorry. My grammas doc was murdered and now...
> 
> There's just lots of shit to do and find and pay for and I can live without it another month, so long as she gets her medicine and shit, right?
> 
> So my triumphant return will wait a bit longer. But I'm updating thrice today to make up for that.


	58. Chapter 58

" **Hey, it's okay. You didn't know what you were doing,** " I've been comforting Excitement since I passed out. I gather it's been a while, though I don't know exactly how long.

" **How does Excitement fix Fear**?" it asks. " **How do we make it right- it's wrong and we need to make it right**."

I don't think it's speaking metaphorically. " **Is there still some damage in you**?"

" **It speaks of the fear it has caused, not any it still holds** ," Solas's voice echoes around the space and Excitement shivers and leaps. " **Calm yourself, friend**."

And then he steps out of the ether. Just…appears, in the air around us. And walks over.

" **I thought it prudent to warn you I was coming** ," he says with a smirk on his face.

I narrow my eyes at him, " **stop smirking at me**."

His smirk just gets wider, " **you are more aware than I thought to find you, on your own**." There's an upward tilt to that statement.

" **I've trained myself to lucid dream over the years. I'm not always that great at it, but I can usually…at least remember my dreams, if not…control anything** ," I reply and pout. " **How did you do that, before?** " I ask, suddenly remembering that I forgot to ask. " **When you looked through the Fade at me**?"

He hesitates, and his expression shutters.

" **I won't tell anyone else** ," I say.

He huffs and the shutters go away, " **I don't imagine that you would…if you understood**."

So I tilt my head and wait.

He sighs and settles back on his left foot, arms behind him in that pose he seems to like. " **My connection to the Fade is hardly ever suppressed, usually. When I am…on my own. I can…always hear in it, at least. There is nothing obvious about that sense- or taste or touch…but I have to suppress my sight, actively. Or my eyes…shimmer, a bit.** "

He seems embarrassed that he suppresses it, rather than about the shimmering. So suppressing a magical thing must be kind of horrifying and shameful to him.

" **You don't have to do that around me, if we're alone** ," I say. " **Your eyes don't bother me. I mean, they're intense and I might not be able to look right into them, but the shimmer doesn't bother me**."

His lips part and then he looks away, clearing his throat. " **Excitement…why have you not left her dreams**?"

Excitement shudders and bounces on the balls of its feet. It's taken the form of a young…person. Not a child, not a teenager. Pre-teen, I'd say. " **I haven't spoken to people since forever!** " it exclaims. " **I like it.** "

" **You do not wish to go back to where you were? Or perhaps some other suitable place**?" Solas asks, looking honestly baffled.

I snort, " **if you'd just spent a good chunk of your life without people around** -" I falter. " **Well you have…but…you don't seem sociable, so maybe just imagine people are solitude in this instance if that works.** "

He stares at me, confused and on the edge of amusement, brows furrowed upwards in an expression of 'what?'.

" **Ohhh, it makes sense to me**!" Excitement whispers and booms. " _If you do not like people, you must be alone. If you do, you must not be alone. But he doesn't like to be alone_ ," it whispers the last part, the booming part of its voice muted.

Solas chuckles tiredly, " **no. I…do not. I suppose I understand. If…the Herald does not mind.** "

" **That isn't her name** …" Excitement says with confusion coloring its tone.

I laugh, " **people give you names in this world. Not only yours, but their name for you. Everyone might have a different name for you. It makes you a little bit theirs. Sort of**." Explaining it like a nickname instead of a title helps it not to bug me.

It tilts its head at me, " **they claim you as theirs. But you don't like it**."

It still does, though, which is probably apparent.

" **I'm fine with the claiming, but the title could be smaller** ," I respond with a wrinkled nose. " **And Herald sounds like the name Harold, which is just ew. I mean, no offense to anyone named Harold, but I am…more feminine than masculine and would prefer something that reflects that. I dunno, maybe Herald does, to them**." I sigh and collapse on the ground in a cross legged position.

There's no scenery, which is weird. Just glowy greenness and white hazy smoke? Mist? Like in that portion in the Fade when you confront the Nightmare?

Solas walks over to sit in front of me, watching me closely. " **What do you mean, more feminine than masculine**?" he asks.

I blink, " **oh…well. Gender is made up. It's just supposed to reflect what a person does or what they're like- so there could be a lot of them. But lots of people just don't fit into them. I don't. I mean, I'm a woman…but also…sometimes not a woman**?" I can feel myself blushing. In a dream? Is it because Solas is here?

He hums thoughtfully, " **what would you call me**?" he asks.

I pause and think about that. " **You've only ever presented as a man, so I'd call you that until you asked me to call you something else.** " I say, carefully.

His mouth curls a little at one end, " **and if I told you I was a woman**?"

" **Then I'd start calling you 'she'** ," I respond with confusion. " **Why**?"

" **It is interesting to see how you react to the questions themselves** ," he says with amusement. " **You are so bewildered by my asking about things you think make perfect sense.** "

" **Isn't everyone**?" I ask.

He hums again, " **they normally imply an opinion, one way or the other. So no. No one I've spoken to in Thedas has ever been able to stay neutral on everything concerning another person's being and how it should be**."

I sigh in comprehension, " **where I'm from it's not that different. There's…some people who are like me. But there's a lot who…don't see the 'point' in 'indulging delusions' if you catch my drift**."

" **Sadly, I do** ," he mutters in response. But he can't be talking about gender or sexuality- Thedas doesn't really have Homophobia and Transphobia in the same way mine does. I mean, Dorian and Krem aside- well…

" **I will go and find more Excitement**!" Excitement booms. " **I will stay near you, you cause it more than you are it**."

I open my mouth to ask what it means, and it's gone.

" **The hell was that about**?" I ask, looking at Solas, perplexed.

" **I would imagine many people are eager to welcome you home. Once you** …"

I recognize what he's going to say before he does- because he does that same damn pause after the Fade Kiss.

" **Wake up**."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted to do more with the spirits!


	59. Chapter 59

“So we’re marketing clothing _and_ hair dyes now, huh?” Vriella asks flatly. “I’m assuming there’s something special added in, to make it all more expensive?” her lips quirk in a slight smirk.

I shrug, “the new blue paint is being made from some flowers that Nell started growing by cross-pollinating a handful of other flowers with magic. Like…she’s invented a whole new flower for it. So we can sell _that_ for a slightly higher price. But the only clothing and hair dyes we’ll be able to sell for above average are the glowing green ones that’ve been…ah…fade-touched? For lack of a better word?”

The garments and hair’ll probably be able to be enchanted or something, who knows.

“You said something about an Inquisition brand, too,” she says as she blows on her hot chocolate. She’s been taste-testing it for me until it was perfect. “Maybe you should make a brand just for yourself?”

“I’m not going to be able to do it all by myself, I’d need people for that-- and a brand should encompass all of them, so I thought an Inquisition brand would be better.”

I ladle some of the chocolate drink into a bunch of glasses-- measuring out exactly enough that I can pour a bit of the heavily whipped cream on top. It’s not nearly anything like whipped cream on earth, but it’s…close?

“What’s your Clan?” she asks, suddenly. “Even if they’re gone, you had to have had one.”

I hum uneasily, “we had a Starkhaven-esque name and I’m not from Starkhaven. People will think I am, and assume things about me that I won’t be able to live up to.”

She nods, “so pick another one. Clans have respect, and the more people in one, the more protection the people in it have from other clans. Without a clan, you have no real protection aside from your bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards?” I pause. “Oh what, you mean the Inner Circle?”

“I meant the Dalish,” she jerks her thumb at Shivanas leaning in the doorway nearby-- because he has to keep me in sight for some reason. “The ones that followed you home? But them too, I guess.”

  
“I don’t have a burning need for more protec-” I stop and stand up straight, tilting my head as I stare sightlessly at the wall.

“Now you’ve done it,” Shivanas mutters. I can hear him, distantly. “You’ve given her an _idea_.”

“Vriella, do the servants in Haven have clans?” I frown and turn to look at her.

“Some of ‘em have families. But really only Nobles have clans. It’s…you humans call it something different, I think,” she shrugs.

“And the mages have been largely disowned,” I mutter.

“We’re a clan,” Shiv informs her.

“Good for you, outlander,” she replies.

“I’m from Ferelden,” he deadpans.

“Play nice, you guys,” I mutter as I sprinkle some cinnamon on top of the cream in each glass of hot chocolate. “Vri…how do you become part of a clan anyway, and how do the inner workings…function? Do you know?”

She shakes her head, “ask that frilly lady-- the pretty one in gold? Or the Nightingale. Either of them should know.”

I nod and pick up the tray of hot chocolates. “Alright, let’s go. We can discuss that other venture we talked about on the way.”

“The Ale that isn’t ale?” she asks. “That honey and mint thing you wanna make?”

“Yeah, that,” I nod and walk carefully past Shivanas as he shifts out of my way.

So we chatter about my ideas for making an Inquisition-brand liquor and also a little about the other things I wanted to brand and sell because I can’t stay on topic for shit. And the whole conversation is had while I’m going around Haven, handing out hot chocolates.

Solas wasn’t in his Cabin and it looks like he hadn’t been in it much today, so I’ll have to go find _him_. Joy. He’s been kind of weird since the dream he walked into where I was talking to Excitement. Though he was weird before that, now he’s…kind of avoiding me? I don’t know.

Varric accepts his with an exclamation of “is this _chocolate_?”-- which, I mean. I know it’s rare and expensive right now, in Ferelden. But we’ve got the coin for it. Or…well, I do. I’ve been putting back a lot of coin, but my pocket change was enough to afford a big clump of chocolate for baking and whatnot.

I get paid a lot, I think. I’m gonna have to review that with Josephine. She’s probably assuming I need to be paid more for being a holy icon, and I really don’t. I’d rather put it back into the Inquisition budget for stuff.

Cassandra is walking past when I leave Varric so I stop her and hold out the tray. She picks up a cup-- or I suppose I should say ‘mug’, there aren’t really cups as anyone from earth nowadays would recognize them.

Her eyes close, and she inhales the scent of chocolate, cream and cinnamon with a small smile on her face. “What is that…sharp scent? That…not the chocolate…the…”

“Cream and cinnamon?” I ask.

She nods, “cinnamon, of course. I love that scent, but I don’t often encounter it. I forget.”

‘ _Putting that information away for later use_ …’

“Enjoy!” I smile and walk back up around to the Chantry area, Vriella and Shiv following as they bicker at each other.

I think of Legolas and Gimli and remember that Shiv has white-blonde braided hair and have to bite my tongue all the way into the Chantry to avoid guffawing. I mean, it’s not the same, or anything-- Shiv and Vriella mostly have a bickering sibling relationship rather than rival-best-friends.

Or well, that’s what it seems like to me. I won’t be mentioning it, though.

“Oh! Herald, how good to see you,” Josephine turns to me with a smile and I hold out the tray. “For me? Oh, it smells _wonderful_ ,” she picks up a mug by the handle and sips the drink. “Ah! I _love_ chocolate!”

“Josephine, how do human… _clans_ , function? Like, noble houses and…?” I shrug. “Do you know how they’re created, joined and function?”

She hums and takes another sip, licking her lips to get at the cream. “Clans are not around as much as they used to be, but if you mean families or noble houses…perhaps you mean Bannorn?”

“No, like…” I hesitate. “Like…when you have people joining and you all work to support each other and you have a head of the clan and they have responsibilities-”

“Oh you mean a _Guild_!” she says with some excitement sparking in her eyes. “Domestic Guilds aren’t referred to as clans, but instead as Kinsmen. If you have Kin, they may be related or not-- but they work together in a unit much like a family or an independent country. There aren’t many of those left, either. None that I’ve met, in fact.” She seems intrigued by the idea. “Why do you ask?”

“Curious. Vriella brought it up and I realized I didn’t know anything about it,” I reply. “So do you know how…Kinship is formed?”

She smiles brightly, “I will write you a report.”

She and Leliana have been writing everything in English for me. Funny enough, apparently my shorthand was easier to figure out than it would have been if I’d included all the vowels-- so after showing them the complete alphabet and how each letter sounds, they’ve begun writing all their messages to me in it. In fully formed sentences...

Though the grammar is weird and they don’t seem to put the punctuation in the places I would. Interesting to study that, as I learn the runic alphabet thing for common-- gives me a kind of…touchstone?

Apparently it was easier for them to learn English as a written cipher than it would be as a real language. I suck at retaining information so it’s going to take forever-- especially as I don’t devote that much time to learning. If I can have it summarized and translated by one of my people, I don’t feel the urgency in learning more than would be necessary to read a map or signs or something.

So next I hand off a mug each to Leliana and Cullen, both of them smiling when they catch a whiff of what’s in the mugs. I should do this more often-- though not with hot chocolate. I’m…reserving the rest.

After asking for a report on Clan and Kinship from Leliana, I head outside and toward the forges, where I’m sure to find Blackwall. Probably helping out around the place, he likes to keep his hands busy.

He is indeed in the forge. With Solas.

Who is arguing with Harritt. “My staff is perfectly fine, thank you.”

I hand the tray to Shiv and he takes it in surprise as I lift the last two mugs off of it. “Be right back,” I grin and walk over to the two of them. “Hey guys. Brought you something.”

Solas glances over and zeroes in on the mug, “that smells like chocolate.”

I hand one mug to Blackwall and the other to him, “it is…” I smile.

They both do the same thing the others did, smelling it before tasting it-- smiling when they do. Solas takes a longer drink than Blackwall, but I think that’s because his magic can make it the perfect temperature for drinking.

That weird wiggle in the air is back again, and it keeps dancing around here and there in different places like it’s all around us. It’s warmer than before. Not just a wiggle, but…like…I dunno what to call it.

I shiver and shake it off, “you guys know anything about Clans and Kinship?”

As it so happens, apparently Solas knows a lot about the difference between clan and kin. Blackwall knows a bit too, but only seems to have a bare grasp on it. And keeps talking about it like it’s interchangeable.

I don’t even know if that’s a thing on earth. I mean, I know it is, in a loose sense. But to have an actual structure and rules regarding kinship-- not for a long time, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so ya know, I tried to look up real life Clan and Kinship kind of things and couldn't find anything helpful so I kind of adapted everything I know about video game Clans, Kin and Guilds, added some headcanons and made something I feel is distinctly Thedosian to me.
> 
> Any notes you have if you know a thing or two about this stuff would be helpful but keep in mind I'm not trying to be perfectly true-to-life anyway.


	60. Varric POV

I’ve never seen Schemer’s learning process before.

After she asked around about Clans and Kinsmen and Families and Noble houses, I was curious. So I followed her around a while with Shiv, after she came back from her rounds to hand out the drinks she made.

She told me a Shiv is a kind of knife where she’s from, as well as a stabbing action. It fits. He seems a little bewildered by the whole nicknaming thing, but I think he’s chalking it up to human weirdness and just decided to indulge her.

There was a Dwarven smuggler with them when I started following, but she begged off pretty fast when she saw me coming. Going to have to look into that. Schemer’s a little too trusting, even if I bet she’s got a plan for every occasion-- she really shouldn’t take the risk that the people handling her business start skimming the funds or take all her designs for shit.

And I’ve since found out that she doesn’t really know how our system of currency works, beyond the obvious. She has no idea of the value of things. She can figure it out if you give her prices for parts-- and add labor and shit, but she’s got to be given the values first. So, I’ve gotta make sure she’s not being cheated straight to her face, too…

She goes around talking to a lot of people in the village, and eventually settles at my fire with me, waiting for something. We discuss…she calls it ‘Capitalism’ and after she explained ‘Communism’ and ‘Socialism’-- I could only conclude she’s from across the sea.

She keeps talking about things like they’re all from different countries and how far away her home is-- is always emphasized.

Then a messenger shows up with some papers all held together on what Schemer calls a ‘clipboard’ but most people just usually refer to as a noteboard or a portable desk.

She reads through it, muttering and using the feather quill to make notes and strike bits and pieces out-- not enough that she can’t still read it, just to make it clear she won’t be needing whatever it is, I think.

Chuckles wanders over to us then, after arguing with the Blacksmith, apparently.

“Why don’t you just get a new staff?” she asks with exasperation. “Do you have something against un-splintered wood or metal or-- what is it about getting a new thing that frightens you?”

“It does not _frighten me_ , I simply do not see the point,” he replies and sips at his own mug of…what did she call it? Hot Chocolate?

Seems like an unimaginative name, so it must be something from where she’s from. If Schemer names something, it’s…simple but oddly fitting.

“Well, what if you could get a better one that would last longer, would you switch out then, at least?” she asks, pouting a little.

I notice she didn’t make herself a mug.

“If I could find a suitable staff that wouldn’t break apart in my hands, yes. I would exchange it,” he replies. Still way too calm for that tone of irritation in his voice. I think the Chocolate’s mellowing him out.

That’s something Schemer says a lot. ‘Mellow’ apparently means ‘calm’, sorta. I _think_ I’m usin’ it right, anyway.

“Why the sudden interest in family systems of Thedas?” Chuckles changes the subject, none too smoothly.

She sighs, “I think I have to start a Clan, or a Guild. Or…maybe more than one. For the people who are unattached to anyone important, for protection of their individual rights and…stuff. Like a Union, but not just for workers…” she mutters that last part thoughtfully. “Already have a union, but it could be…expanded, too, I guess.”

“Why are you so fixated on this?” Chuckles asks with a glance sideways. He seems almost…alright, with her now. But he keeps pokin’ at her. Askin’ questions that are leading-- but she never notices. I think that’s why.

Well, he does when he’s not just straight up hiding from her. That’s been kinda hilarious to watch.

I think he’s not used to so much focused attention-- she goes to him to ask questions more than anyone else. And I get the feeling she’s even holding _back_.

“Fixated on what?” she asks distractedly, flicking through her pages to make notes.

“Saving everyone? Championing nonhumans?” he says.

She blinks and looks up and over at him, “I’m not saving or championing anything. I’m going to create an environment in which they have power, enforce equality-- as much as I can…and then they’ll be able to do the rest themselves. They’ll eventually learn about advocacy from everything I do in response to the things they notice and ask me about-- they don’t _need_ me. I know that,” she says with a purse of her lips. “But it’ll be easier if I do it myself right now. Create a system to amplify-- while they still don’t have a voice.”

And then she goes back to her notes and Chuckles stares into the fire like he just got handed the hardest riddle of all time.

“Gonna have to explain a bit more than that, I think,” I say.

She looks up at me with surprise. “It…I mean to say… Elves and other nonhumans could eventually carve out their own places themselves--city elves already got started on that, in fact-- I’m just fast-tracking it. And I do it because I can’t…do otherwise? It bothers me when there’s…inequalities that I could fix easily.”

We stare at her for a moment, similar looks of confusion on our faces, I think.

She sighs, “where I’m from…there’s a lot of people in power who don’t help anybody and…I’m sick of it.”

Her eyes are dark, her expression is even and her tone is tired. Like a great weight is settling on her shoulders and she just can’t hold it up. But I don’t think the weight is the fate of Thedas or even the fate of nonhumans or the poor. That shit just comes naturally to her, for some reason.

“So what about you?” I ask. “What do you get out of all that?”

She stares at me and blinks slowly, eyes darting here and there like she’s thinkin’ real hard about it. “Everything,” she says. Then shrugs, “I don’t have the words…”

“When you do, we would be interested in hearing them,” Chuckles interjects. “As for now…what are your ideas for the clan system you have in mind?”


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triple update today, just because. Here's the last one!

Pay attention, _da’len_ ,” Keeper Adahlen calls to me as I scribble notes on my clipboard.

“I am, I’m listening, I’ve gotta write it down so I don’t forget-” I make an offended noise as she rips it from my hands.

She lifts a brow, “pay attention with all your senses, not just your ears.”

I huff, “fine, just give it back. I can’t lose it.”

She hands it over and I put the pen back in its little jar of ink, following her as she goes about her regular duties.

The only head of a clan I could get my hands on right now, is the Keeper of the Dalish clan that moved into a clearing near the servants and mages after we met up with them on the way to the Crossroads.

So far today she’s taken a few hours in the morning after sunrise to meditate-- which I couldn’t do, but that’s optional. I had to sit still and quiet for like three hours, which wore on me a bit, but now we’re moving, so I feel…slightly better? Then she’s gone around and spoken to everyone, receiving complaints and well wishes from everyone in her clan-- and everybody just kinda looked at me funny as I followed her.

There were angry stares, judgmental and fearful stares-- and even a few curious ones. But mostly they seemed to view me as an intruder, interloper…person.

Which, I kind of am.

Now, she’s taking me out past the Clan’s assigned clearing and pointing out herbs and having me harvest them-- showing me the Dalish way to prepare Elfroot for potion making-- even showing me how to find different kinds of edible moss and mushrooms.

I don’t know what it has to do with being in charge, other than checking over what people bring in to make sure none of it’s poisonous or something. That’s probably really important for them to know. Make a mental note to inspect things personally sometimes…

“You are beginning a clan of your own, you said,” she says while I’m on my knees, carefully digging around a flower-- Andraste’s Grace, she said-- though she called it by a different, more Elven-sounding name first.

I grunt, “yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

“We must speak of the Elves in your ranks. The mages, the servants. What do you intend to do with them?” she asks.

“I’m not _doing_ anything with them, they’re not baubles,” I grumble as I carefully pry the flower and roots out of the soil. “I’ll make Clans and Guilds and Unions and they can belong to whatever ones they like. The Unions will be for every working man and woman. Servants, soldiers, anyone with a job. The Guilds will be for the higher level stuff-- like exporting, importing and big businesses, to regulate stuff. And the Clan…will just be people who have no one else, if they want to have a family but don’t want to marry into one-- or if they want to marry into one _later_ , I guess…”

“And so you will have Elves in your clan,” she says.

“Probably, why?” I hold the plant in my hands as I look up at her, probably streaked with dirt all over my clothes and face…man, I must look ridiculous. It almost makes me smile. Wonder what people’d say if they saw their Herald like _this_?

“Clans tend to intermarry to cement their alliances,” she tells me. “Would you negotiate dowries _for_ your women? Negotiate for a dowry for your men? Set up tests for them to prove themselves worthy of your daughters and sons?”

I blink, “uh…I guess I’d have to, if I was a Clan leader, so…yes? But the people involved would have to… _want_ to intermarry. I’m not going to force people into marriages. There are probably plenty of people who’d be willing if you just asked what they want. Right?”

She tilts her head, “indeed. And what of my Clan? What would relations between us be? What would you ask for the privilege of intermarriage between us?”

I figure this is some kind of test or that I have to show applied knowledge, so I think hard for a moment and reply with, “I think, no dowries. If people get married, the dowries should be put directly into the married couple’s resources for starting their lives together. I would give dowries, or whatever. But not receive them. And…our relations would be dependent on what Guild you belong to.”

She stands a bit straighter, “you wish us to join your Guilds, as well?”

“It’s not really a…loyalty thing, it’s more of a job thing?” I reply. “So, a Union and a Guild-- since you guys have your own-- like you make armor from Ironbark and you could sell that exclusively to other Dalish or whatever, as you liked. But it’s like an industry all its own, so you’d need a Guild…what?” I think I missed something.

She’s frowning at me. “And what would be expected of those who joined your Unions and Guilds?”

I actually blank on that for a second, “I don’t…know what you’re asking? A Union is just a bunch of people who get together and protect each other from asshole bosses. They protest when their wages drop, or when they’re being treated badly-- it’s a solidarity thing. I would get nothing, personally, from a Union. It’s a group of people, doing things for each other and themselves. And a Guild is much the same-- but more like a business…caucus? Is that the word? Uh…like when the King of Ferelden and the Empress of Orlais treat with each other. They discuss terms, set rules and boundaries that they can agree on-- and everyone tries to be as fair to each other as possible…sorta thing?”

She thinks about that for a long, protracted minute as I pack the dirt and roots and stuff them carefully into a tiny sack that’ll keep them all protected till I can get the flower to Nell.

She finally hums, “if these do not benefit you, why would you create them?”

“Well, I mean…I benefit, but not with…money or influence or anything,” I reply. “It just creates a better system for managing things-- and I wouldn’t have to be on top of righting inequalities all the time, because they’d do it themselves if I gave them the power and standing to. You’d speak for yourselves. Perhaps with you as the voice, perhaps your First. Or anyone else you’d like to appoint as the representative.”

She inclines her head and puts her hands behind her back as we walk back toward the camp. “And so our Clans would interact through a middle-man, that is a collection of people all attempting to keep track of transactions and agreements-- with a person to represent the clan who would argue on our behalf against someone on the other side?”

“Yes, kind of,” I reply. “But it’d be more negotiating, than arguing. You’d both be looking to get the most out of the agreement for both sides, but you’d have rules and codes of conduct on how to negotiate and what unlawful cheating would look like--” I huff and shrug. “Varric, Leliana, Josephine and Solas all seem to get what I mean, but they use different words so…I dunno if I have the right words for you.”

  
“A _Hahren_ is an elder, a teacher, someone who…guides the people-- beside the Keepers,” she suddenly begins to explain. “The father of a girl might object to my choices for her husband, but I ultimately have the power to override him. Likewise the _Hahren_ ’s might pause me with wisdom and advise me on better options. But I would still have final say. It is not so in Ferelden. What power would I have over what my people argue for and against?”

I make an uneasy noise, “personally? None. If they want to negotiate on behalf of the whole clan, you can control what they negotiate for and how, I’d assume. But if it’s just one person negotiating for their own things, it wouldn’t concern your welfare, but theirs.”

“That is unacceptable,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose. “What if one of my people attempts to trade something we will need for the winter? I cannot stop them?”

“I’d assume you’d set up some kind of supply holding,” I say with surprise. “Where you’d put all the things you might need in case of winter or emergency…and then everything superfluous, so to speak-- would get distributed.”

She frowns, “our people keep their own supplies of things, in case it is lost or a thief attempts to take things in the night. Everything is not all in the same place and each piece is guarded closely.”

“Then you’d have to have a special chest or something,” I hum thoughtfully. “Or chests, as the case may be-- for each person to put in the items they are _not_ allowed to sell because it’s Clan property, and not personal property?”

She doesn’t seem to like that at all, “why can we not simply negotiate as one people instead of individuals?”

“You can…?” I say hesitantly. “I just said there’s two ways. If you want to make it so they can only offer labor in trade, that could work too.”

She relaxes, minutely, “we could barter with labor, over goods?”

“I don’t see why not. Though you’d probably have to come up with some kind of written contracts or something, to ensure you’re protected in the event one of them tries to skip out on paying. With their signature and everything, so you can prosecute them. Written by other Elves versed in law so a Human couldn't screw you over, just because.”

Her head tilts at me as we stop at the fire in the middle of camp-- and I blink and jolt a little at the fact that I hadn’t noticed we were here yet.

“We will need to speak more on this subject,” she says.

Yeah, that’s gonna be fun…

I _hate_ talking business. I need Vriella.


	62. Chapter 62

“We’re going to be there a week, at least,” I say as I pass Leliana some letters. “So please, can you translate my letter for Briala into Orlesian and encode it in some way she will be able to read? Hopefully she’ll have enough time to observe me.”

She takes the small stack of letters, riffling through them for the one addressed to Briala. “Getting in touch with the Elven Ambassador to the Alienage in Val Royeax, so soon?”

“We’re still small, so she could feel more in control of our interactions. She’d have the upper hand right now,” I reply. “Wouldn’t she?”

Leliana inclines her head, “especially if we were to ask her assistance and offer her favors, in return. We do not have much influence in Orlais, as of yet.”

“That’ll change after I’ve been there. She’ll have time to think about it,” I shrug. “If her answer is no, that’s fine. It won’t change much. I just thought we should offer.”

I figured if I offered an alliance to Briala, while we were still small but obviously growing quickly-- she might want in on it more than she would later on. And I need footholds in Orlais.

“And one for Teagan Guerrin, by care of the King of Ferelden?” she asks, quirking a brow at me. “You want me to contact Alistair and tell him of the situation?”

“Yes, please,” I smile. “I don’t want Teagan painting us as horrible villains, stealing an old building his family wasn’t even using anyway. So let him know that we’ll respect his rights to the land and he can send whatever people he wants-- but they’ll live under Inquisition Authority and laws. As we’re the ones who stabilized the area, and all.”

We left a couple of rifts and other issues to deal with later-- because I can only take so much all at once. Solas says I need rest days in between sealing a bunch of rifts-- if I’m not going to pause between each one. And I have to go to Orlais in like…two days.

“And this one…addressed to the ‘ _Hahren_ ’ of the Denerim alienage,” she says slowly. “And this one to the alienage leaders in Redcliffe, another for the leader of the elves in Starkhaven…several other places…”

“I’m offering jobs,” I state plainly. “Also protection, to do said jobs. Relocation, if necessary and desired.”

She stares at me for a moment, “most of them will not be able to read.”

“Which is why our messengers will be reading the letters to them, yes?” I smile. “And agents to smuggle out whatever Elves want to leave?”

“If the Humans of those towns and cities notice, they will be unhappy,” she says.

“Is it unlawful?” I ask in a deadpan tone. “To help them get out?”

“No,” she replies with a small frown.

“Then they can bite me,” I reply. “If they complain, remind them that this isn’t Tevinter and that we don’t own people.”

Not legally and officially, anyway.

“And these?” She holds up the three letters addressed with blank spaces.

“For Vashoth mercenaries,” I say with a smile. “Find out names of the companies and address them accordingly. I think Arisala said hers was called Valo-Kas. Or something.”

Can’t wait to meet those guys.

Leliana inclines her head. “And these last few?”

“Varric gave me some surfacer names for Dwarven families who might want in-- and Vriella had ideas,” I smile again, this time a bit more toothy, I think.

“We will need Human allies, Nik,” she says. “Do you realize this?”

“Need, no,” I respond with a sigh. “But yeah, I’m workin’ on that.”

She nods and smiles furtively, “focusing on the nonhumans first is an interesting tactic.”

“Not really a tactic, so much as I just can’t stand most humans,” I reply. “Everyone we’d have to treat with in human circles is a noble. The nonhuman nobles in their own circles are still kind of down-to-earth, so to speak. I’d prefer to deal with them first.”

“As you like. Josie has someone for you to meet, I think,” she stands and gestures at the war room door. “In her office. I was to bring you sooner than this,” she sighs. “I got caught up, discussing fashion in Orlais. You know how to distract me,” she smiles more genuinely this time.

“I was just talkin’,” I respond whimsically. “It’s you that went and got all distracted.”

She giggles as we walk out of the war room and over to Josephine’s office.

Leliana opens the door for me, but heads back to the war room as I walk into the office.

Josephine beams at me from behind her desk and gestures to the man in armor sitting in front of her. “Here is the Arbiter now! Allow me to introduce, Cremisius Aclassi.”

I feel a shudder of surprise, at that. And something else when he stands up and turns around.

His smile, his hair-- he’s just…how do you get that good-looking?

I think I stand there staring at him for a moment too long, because he’s smiling a little more smirk-ily when I hold out my hand for shaking.

He seems surprised and then reaches back, shaking my hand once, firmly. “Good to meet you, Herald.”

“You too…Cremisius?” I say. “And if you’re going for a title, I’d prefer Lady Nik. Just Nik, if you’d go without one.”

Again, surprise as we release each other’s hands. “Nik…strange name for Ferelden or the Free Marches…”

“Yes, it is,” I reply with a smile. “Now…what was it you needed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading Dalishious's meta on Tumblr, you guys should check it out! Be courteous.
> 
> It's come to my attention that the wiki for the Masked Empire is a liar and I will not be doing what I did before with Briala, Celene and Gaspard.
> 
> I've got SUCH plans for Orlais, you have NO idea.
> 
> Also it occurred to me that not reaching out to the nonhumans sooner was ooc for Nik.


	63. Chapter 63

“Tevea…?” I stare in shock at the woman for a few moments. “Oh my god! When’s the last time you slept?”

The tiny Elven woman looks up from her desk and blinks blearily at me. “What? Oh…milady!”

Her tawny hair is mussed like she hasn’t bathed in a week and slept on it wrong a couple times, but the bags under her eyes say she hasn’t slept at all…and she’s so _pale_. Her skin was richer, darker brown before, wasn’t it? She looks so _grayish_.

She stands up, tripping over a pile of papers and stumbling to right herself. I have to leap over a bunch of paper and shit to grab her arm and keep her upright. “Holy shit! Why haven’t you hired some assistants or something?”

She blinks at me again, “assistants, my lady?”

“Ugh,” I smack myself in the forehead.

Of course she’d expect her human boss to work her to death.

“Look honey, go get something to eat and go to bed-” I turn and gesture at Shivanas, shadowing me as usual. “I’m relatively safe in Haven, so you can leave me for the minute it takes to get her food and into her bed, right?”

He rolls his eyes at me, “I suppose. You’d better be here when I get back though, or I’ll make a scene looking for you.”

I huff loudly and steer her around the papers, “just wait here if I’m not. I’ve gotta find some other servants…Tevea, can you give me some names?”

It takes her a minute to have the presence of mind to write down the names of all the most productive people she’s observed-- and then she’s being ushered out by Shivanas, who’s speaking to her in gentle tones. Sometimes in _Elvhen_ , sometimes in Common. All soothing words. It’s kinda sweet actually, I didn’t know he’d be that nurturing toward someone who wasn’t in his clan.

And then I go hunting.

I hunt down six servants on Tevea’s list and appoint them to new positions. Assistants, two of them for Tevea personally-- three of them appointed to oversee handing out pay and keeping track of the budget and shit like that, and the last one is made into a human resources officer, so to speak.

“I’ll be…managing the people?” she asks uncertainly.

I spoke to them all for a grand total of five minutes each and she’s the most…compelling? “It basically means, that if someone has a complaint about their job or other servants behavior-- they come to you. If it’s something actionable, like-- if someone needs to be written up and assigned sensitivity training for sexual harassment or for using racist slurs-- you’d be the one sending those requests to Tevea for approval. You’re the one who’ll decide what’s important enough to act on. And I’m gonna check in on you from time to time and the stuff you’ve passed over-- to be sure nothing’s been missed.”

She nods and swallows, “I’ll do my best, milady.”

“I hope so,” I quip with a smile. “Now, do you mind helping the others with filing the papers inside?”

She nods and runs inside with the others, who I sent in one by one after figuring out their positions and new pay. A few coppers extra is apparently a big fucking deal when you’re promoting someone. They seem almost giddy about it. I can just pay for that out of my own pocket if anyone has a problem with it-- won’t have to talk to Josephine about my pay then, if I’m using it to pay my people.

Shiv finds me not long after that-- apparently Tevea couldn’t even remember where she sleeps and kept stumbling into things on the way to get food. So he ended up playing nursemaid for a while.

“You want me to do what?” he asks.

“There’s a young Dalish girl I’ve heard about, wandering alone with…well. Her clan is gone,” I bite my lip. “Pick her up for me?

  
He takes a deep breath, “why?”

“Reason one? She’s Dalish, aren’t you supposed to help each other out and take each other in and shit?” I ask in confusion.

His body stiffens, “I don’t even know anything about her.”

“I’m not asking you to do it as soon as you find her,” I reply apologetically. “I just mean, if you do find her suitable, wouldn’t you rather save her than leave her in the wilds? If not, you can just bring her to the Inquisition and I’ll take her in.”

He purses his lips and nods, not relaxing, but accepting the answer, at least.

“Reason two, she’s been spotted near an ancient artifact and…Solas says you can’t fuck it up and make the Veil worse, but what if he’s _wrong_?” What if he _lied_? Misled, whatever. “If she starts screwing around with high level magic like this without knowing its full inner workings, she might open a rift or something, who knows?”

He frowns and thinks about that. “How old is she? You said ‘young’.”

“Uh…twenty or so, I think?” I respond. “Her clan was killed a few years ago, I think, so probably right after she’d just gotten her Vallaslin…or maybe you guys get those younger than I thought-- either way, she’s been alone this whole time. Without family.”

  
His expression flickers at that. “The Keeper ordered me to keep you safe.”

“Then ask the Keeper for permission to fulfill my request,” I ask. “She needs family, needs help-- and I need someone to take her a message so that she’ll come here.”

“What message?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I know where he is, the…the human who killed her clan,” I respond.

He inhales sharply. “And you want her to come here for what?” his voice is so quiet.

“So I can help her. I’ll even have him taken into custody or help her track him down or whatever she wants-- just ask her to come here and wait until I get back to talk to her,” I’m practically begging at this point.

He purses his lips and nods, “I will ask the Keeper. She may not agree to this, but I will ask.”

“Thank you!” I grin. “Okay…next…I need to talk to your smithing _Hahren_ about ironbark..."


	64. Chapter 64

“ _I have a crossbow_!” Asha runs around with her new toy crossbow, shooting bolts that are tipped with little puffy balls that are enchanted to spew magical glitter on impact. It doesn’t stay, but it’s pretty in the moment.

She shrieks a little when she sees the glitter and starts firing off the little bolts at everything within range--and that’s when I have to stop her with a hand on the toy weapon and tap her forehead when she looks up at me. “Never aim that at a person in their face or in their chest, groin or stomach. I know it seems harmless-- but just because it can’t kill someone, doesn’t mean it can’t hurt them.”

“Yes, milady~” she says with a fancy dip of a bow and I flick her forehead.

She runs away with her crossbow, giggling.

“You gave her a toy weapon?” Cassandra walks over from the training area, sweating a bit from training the troops. We’re leaving like…first light tomorrow-- so she’s getting in all the hitting she can before…

What were her exact words? ( _Before I have to be stuffed into my ceremonial armor and stand there like a particularly decorative statue_ ) I think?

“She wanted one. You shouldn’t stifle a child’s interests. You should teach them how to handle things responsibly.”

“AH! She shot me in the ass!” someone shouts from the mage camp.

I can hear Asha giggling madly. Well, I never said anything about asses, did I?

“I see,” Cassandra answers with pursed lips-- trying not to laugh instead of being disapproving this time around. That’s refreshing.

“Hey, she _just_ got it,” I respond with a quirk of my lips. “Responsibility won’t come into the equation till we get back from Orlais.”

She tilts her head and squints at me, “you are far more devious than you appear.”

I laugh.

“WHERE IS THE HERALD OF ANDRASTE!” a voice shouts from the road up to Haven.

Cassandra steps in front of me as I turn to see what’s going on.

Scouts and Soldiers are blocking the way and there are more shouts. Mostly expletives, but also:

“-SEEK AN AUDIENCE WITH YOUR DAMN ARBITER!”

“Hey!” I clap my hands loudly and the Scouts and Soldiers look back at me. _My_ scouts and soldiers, the ones who actually listen to me and look to me for direction? “Let them through, just escort them.”

“Herald,” Cassandra starts and glances at me, changing tack when she sees the expression on my face. “I will be directly behind you. Please step backward if she advances on you.”

I nod and turn to face the woman. She’s an elf, dressed in raggedy clothing, covered in dirt…

“Are you her?” she asks hoarsely when she comes up in front of me.

“Yes,” and I turn to glance outside the circle and see a few servants milling around, trying to see. “Oi! Someone get her a drink and something to eat!”

A few people run off in the direction of the kitchens, so they’ll figure that out.

“I need to petition for justice,” she says, croaks really.

“Yeah okay hon, but you need to eat and drink or you’re gonna either conk out in the middle of your petition or lose your voice completely before you can tell me what you need.” I’m legitimately worried. Like, usually I just fuss at people who look the least bit rumpled-- but this is more like what happened with Tevea. She looks…so horrible. Like she hasn’t slept or eaten in days.

And then I look down. “Oh my god! Someone get me a healer!”

I have her sit down on a nearby log by the fire in front of the training area. And I didn’t want her to walk over there, so I picked her up and carried her. I was worried when she just curled into a ball in my arms and didn’t complain.

Adults usually complain.

Ren was fetched and he’s kneeling before her now, tending to her feet-- I’m glad they thought to get an Elven healer at least. Maybe he was the only one available, I dunno. But she seemed a lot more comfortable when she saw the healer was an elf.

Her feet are blistered, bleeding…just…god, how far did she walk? And through what?

She’s sipping some of the fruit juice we’ve been making from the berries in the area-- those damn berries are so plentiful, I swear it’s like they’re bonded with a weed-- and eating a little bit of eggs. I’d normally have gone for soup or stew for someone so thin, but she seems okay with the solid food so maybe it’s _just_ been a few days and not a case of malnutrition over weeks or months?

“I need to make a petition,” she says as she sets aside the dishes on the ground and turns to face me, lit with new energy. “There’s rumors you actually give a shit what happens to Elves, so I came.”

“I do,” I frown and tilt my head. Something is…very familiar about her. “What is it you need?”

“Retribution,” she says with her eyes beginning to cloud with tears. “My husband was murdered,” she says as her voice strains. “By Templars!”

And suddenly everything clicks into place.

* * *

 

Cassandra POV

The Herald does her duty to the people and more, as an Arbiter should. I see now what Justinia saw when she appointed her. What she must have known.

“Templars?” Nik questions carefully. “In full armor and everything? Down in the Hinterlands?”

The woman furrows her brow, “yes…how’d you know where I came from?”

“Any further away than the Hinterlands and you’d be a _lot_ worse, I think,” the Herald says. “Also…I’ve attempted to contact the Templars in the Hinterlands, with peace in mind-- and they killed my messenger.” She smiles like it pains her, “so they’re getting shot on sight if they come across Inquisition patrols.”

The Elf sighs, “is that all I can expect? They took his ring, I need it back.”

“They’re probably already dead, hon,” the Arbiter replies. “I’ll get you a ride back down to the Crossroads area and you can take a letter to the guys in charge there. They’ll let you at the looted affects so you can see if his ring is there. If not, you can keep coming back every once in a while to look, if you like.” Her smile becomes more toothy then, “I’ve made it clear that the Hinterland Templars are a rogue unit and there’s the same reward for taking them out as the Bandits on the road.”

The woman nods, lips pressing together, “I will find his ring.”

And then the Herald gestures at the men to disperse, “she’s no danger to me. She needs a bed to crash on, though. Ren, can you find her a bed in the mage camp or with the Servants? I don’t want to put her in Haven with all the non-mage humans…”

He looks up and nods, “she needs more healing, it’d be better to keep her close to me.”

“Get some rest and I’ll have Lady Montilyet see to that letter for you,” the Arbiter stands and walks away from the woman, signaling to me to follow her as she walks up to the gates of Haven.

“You are going to send her with one of the caravans?” I ask as we step into the village.

“I don’t want her walking around on those feet just yet,” she replies. “We need to get Josephine to write the letter, make sure she has supplies for wherever she’s going after she gets off in the Hinterlands…and I want two Scouts to look out for her.”

“Why?” I ask.

She throws me a look and stops in the middle of the street to stare at me with furrowed brows. “Cassandra…she’s an unaccompanied _Elven woman_ who likely lives alone now, thanks to those Templars killing her husband. She’s in danger.”

I frown and consider that. “I suppose it is better to be sure to keep her safe until the Templars are dealt with.”

She nods, but frowns still. “Cassandra. I know you’ve never really...identified all that heavily with other women. The soft, sweet ones, at least? The wilting Nobles and servant types?”

I shift uneasily, “no, I suppose I have not.”

“Okay, well I’m going to need you to put yourself in her shoes for a minute,” she says. “Imagine you are much smaller and weaker than a man walking toward you. Imagine he’s swaggering, with a sword in his hand, and your weapon is gone. You have forgotten how to use it anyway, if you ever knew. And he strikes you down-- or subdues you to use you at his leisure.”

I shiver, “a man would never-”

“Not _you_ , no,” she insists, frustrated. “Cassandra, as clumsy and weak as I am-- would you leave me alone with a man who meant me harm?”

I open my mouth and then close it, frowning more intensely. “It would depend how angry you were and if you could surprise him.”

That makes her smile, but her eyes are sad. “And if I was just afraid and in his direct path?”

I suppose I wouldn’t. I suppose I might even…stay until I was certain she was safe, in fact.

“I understand, Herald,” I feel as though I am speaking too softly for her to hear.

But she nods at me, in approval.


	65. Nik POV, Varric POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> List of OC's that have appeared in Rewritten: https://rikadivani.tumblr.com/post/166823270899/rewritten-revised-oc-list

“If she doesn’t improve in a few days, let Leliana or Josephine know and they’ll contact me for further advice,” I hand the small jar of medicine to the baby’s mother. She’ll take it and the baby will breastfeed, therefore the baby will receive benefit from it. I made sure it was baby-friendly to begin with, but…you can never be too careful. “If she gets worse, inform them immediately and get her right to a healer. Ren, preferably. The elf with the bouncy reddish brown hair?”

She nods tiredly as her baby screams in her arms, unhappy and red-faced and so tired, you can just see her little face lined with exhaustion. “Thank you, milady.”

“And you said you’re unmarried,” I say. A bit questioning.

She nods and firms her mouth into a hard line, “her father’s…not here. Nor would he want to be.”

“Alright then,” I shrug. “So I need you to head over to the mages and servants areas and stay there with the baby till she’s better. One, because you’ll be near the healers-- two, because they can watch her for you while you sleep. And you need sleep, honey.”

She hesitates, but the baby screams in an especially grating way, so she grimaces and caves, “yes, thank you.”

“What were your names?” I ask with a smile.

She flushes a little, “I am Miera. I…haven’t named her yet.”

“Really?” I blink, glancing down at the baby. “Oh. Well. We’re going to need something to call her when we’re talking about her treatment so nobody gets confused, so how about a nickname?”

She fidgets with the baby in her arms for a moment, “what would you call her, milady?”

“Hm…” something just kinda pops into my head, so I grin and say, “Viva.”

“Viva?” she asks, confused. “That sounds like a real name. What does it mean?”

“Alive,” I say with a half-smile. “It’s just so I can say her name in my letters and everyone will know who I’m talking about. You want me to call her something else, feel free to correct me.”

“No, I…” she thinks for a long moment, looking down at the baby in her arms. “I think I like it.”

“Lady Herald!” a servant runs over to us where we’re standing in the middle of the Healer area in Haven. I decided to do a few rounds this morning before leaving for the boat to Orlais, so… “Come quick-- the Mothers-- please, you ‘ave to come!”

* * *

  
Varric POV

You know, chronicling the adventures of Hawke usually only ever involved either _being there_ , or hearing about the story afterwards from just about anybody. Hawke tended to be straightforward-- even as a mage, he’s still a mage _farmer_ more than anything else.

With Schemer, things are different. If I’m not personally there, I have to get the story from one of two people.

Chuckles, who knows people almost as well as Schemer and I do. Or the Seeker, who’s observant and picks up on shit, even if she doesn’t know what it means.

If I can’t pick from them-- I have to looking for Undertaker or Nightshade. Though they’re usually more focused on Schemer herself than the people around.

If I just try to get parts of the story from anyone else? Well, I get shit like ‘and then she just spoke and waved her hand and all was well’ or ‘she got pissed off and they were afraid, so they backed down’.

“Alright, so you gotta tell me what happened,” I tell Schemer. “Or I’ll make something up to put in the book.”

“Don’t you dare!” Schemer laughs.

“It was nothing unmanageable, Varric,” the Seeker sighs. “The Mothers are grasping at something to control. They are the most powerless in the chain of command now, and they do not like it."

  
“I’m not giving them back that kind of power, Cassandra. Not in Haven,” Schemer says. “Not anywhere if I had any say.”

“They are the leaders of our people and our faith, how can you deny them the-” the Seeker stops when Schemer looks over at her.

We’re in a cart, so we’re not all that far away from each other.

Schemer is on one side with the Seeker, Chuckles and I on the other. Chuckles is being quiet and kind of out of it, today-- sketching and scribbling in that bound leather sketchbook of his. I can tell he’s payin’ attention though, his ears are perked. I remember the Elf doing that trick back in the Hanged Man. Looking uninterested, but honing in.

“What?” the Seeker demands.

Schemer’s look _is_ pretty incredulous. “Cassandra…what would you do if a Mother came to you and said that…Varric had to die.”

“Hey, don’t bring _me_ into this!” I say with a laugh.

She grins at me and then turns the serious look back on the Seeker. “What if she came to you, and told you that he needed to die. That Dwarves, Elves and other nonhumans weren’t children of the Maker and had to be eradicated?”

“I wouldn’t listen,” Seeker responds. “I know better than that.”

“ _They_ don’t,” Schemer replies.

And with that incredibly unsettling realization settling on the Seeker, because-- they had this argument the first time they ever really met. Commoners are kept stupid and poor to keep the nobles rich and in power. She even conceded the point.

She turns three different shades of red, though… “A Mother of the Chantry would never-”

And then her eyes dart to me and she turns a new shade of red.

Because we both know a woman of the Chantry _did_. Leaving aside how the Grand Cleric handled things in Kirkwall, Petrice fucked shit up over the Qunari. Sister, Mother, it’s all the same. A woman of the cloth.

And that uncomfortable silence descends on everyone.

Chuckles picks that moment to close his sketchbook, put it down and look at Schemer across the wagon and ask, “what place would you have for the religious leaders in life if not the place the Chantry has in Thedas?”

“Outside politics,” she mutters and crosses her arms. “They should be family, comforting and tightly-knit in their areas. Looking to each other for support and comfort in times of hardship and stress. There shouldn’t be a hierarchy in it and there definitely shouldn’t be any kind of power the religious leaders can leverage over their flock. The power to bless and absolve is for whatever deities you believe in to give you. Not some fellow Human, Elf, Dwarf or Kossith mortal to bestow.”

“What would you do with the position of Divine, then?” the Seeker asks, maybe demands. “If Divine Justinia was still here-”

“Divine Justinia isn’t here, Cass,” Schemer cuts her off, gently. “I’m here. You’re here. And the office of Divine can be what it is. The head of a religious order who decides what funds go where and for what purpose-- but she shouldn’t have the power she does. Whoever becomes the next divine…she should just be a safe place. That’s what religion is _for_.”

Chuckles hums, “I always find it strange that you speak of it with respect while disbelieving it yourself.”

“I will _never_ be the kind of person who tells others what’s okay to believe for their spiritual afterlife-- or anything else that doesn’t hurt anyone,” she says, brow furrowing. Mouth tight in a line. “I speak with respect because I respect _people_ and their right to _be_.”

It’s pretty quiet after that.


	66. Solas POV

I dislike the sea.

The dreams are never worth it.

“Hey…you look…cranky today,” Nik walks up next to me on the deck and leans on the railing to my right. “Something wrong?”

“How much longer will we be on this…ship?” I ask.

“Two days or so,” she replies with a slight smile. “You don’t like sailing?”

“The sailing is perfectly fine,” I reply. “It is being unable to dream deeply or sleep at all, that bothers me.”

“You’re not sleeping?” she asks with worry coloring her tone.

I have to cut the fussing off at the pass or I will spend the next six hours reassuring her of how _fine_ I am.

“We need to talk about what happened in the Crossroads, with Anguish,” I state and turn to lean on the railing. “I was sidetracked by your attitude toward the situation, but I want to know how you did it-- if you are simply a ‘lucid’ dreamer, as you say.”

“You know, I don’t really know?” she says with a bit of wonder in her tone. “After the arrow hit me, I just…kind of went deeper, I think? There was…fire, everywhere. At different times. Fire, death, pain…Anguish.” She shrugs her shoulders and smiles, “so I called out the names of different demons. Fear, Despair…and then Anguish announced itself. It’s kind of dramatic.”

Her amusement at that is almost enough to coax me out of my incredibly irritable mood. Most of my conversations about spirits follows a formula. ‘Aren’t they interesting?’ followed by ‘Dangerous’ and then as well with ‘evils of the Fade must be resisted’…and other such nonsense.

These people have thought so hard, for so long that the Fade is dangerous and treacherous and unnatural, that they have made it so.

Nik’s refusal to see it that way…is a comfort, of a sort.

“Do you believe Anguish drew you in?” I ask. “I did not send you to sleep, so it is unlikely I pulled you deeper into the Fade. You simply passed out before I could.”

“Maybe,” she replies. “It seemed like it was waiting around…for someone. Or maybe it was just there, and noticed me-- and came to see what was going on. I tried to ask it what it was doing in the Crossroads…it got…sidetracked,” she huffs a small laugh. “It started living other people’s pain, so I told it goodbye. It was…grateful that I’d shown it how to ‘focus on the now’?”

She says it questioningly, and looks to me for explanation.

My mouth twitches at one edge, but I fight off the smirk that wants to spread. “Many spirits have only loose concepts of the passage of time. They are aware of it only through mortals. But certain spirits, and demons…are of a virtue that blurs that. Anguish…stretches on.”

“When you have forever, forever is all you have,” she mutters.

I tilt my head and quirk an eyebrow at that, “what does that mean?”

She sighs, “that when you’re immortal…your immortality becomes the crux of your being. The thing that…everything else is hinged on. You’ll have hundreds of years to become good at anything and everything…centuries passing while you watch the world change…unwilling or unable to do the same.”

Her eyes darken with something like fear, or pain, “because to live forever, you have to be frozen in time…or just move through it very, very slowly.”

“And why should that be true?” I ask, perplexed. “Why can immortals not change with the same speed and regularity as mortals?”

She glances at me, pursing her lips. “From the time you were born, how long did it take you to change-- and if you compare it to an immortal lifespan…well. One would assume that Immortals would mature quickly, but then stagnate. So after becoming young men and women…their growth would slow. How much did you change once you’d become an adult?”

Frowning at that question, I cast my memory back to times best left forgotten. “I’d say I changed rather a lot, actually.”

“Yeah, but in times of contention, wasn’t it?” she asks. “You’ve seen some kind of fighting before, right? That’s why you’re so proficient?”

I still and stare at her, answering with care. “I have been through a skirmish or two in my time, yes.”

She rolls her eyes, “Solas, I’m not trying to puzzle out your past, I know that makes you uncomfortable, I’m asking-- after the contention was over, or before it began…how much did you change?”

I am a bit surprised at the concession that she has noticed my…dodging of the subject of my past and has apparently decided to let it go…but it actually fits with what I’ve observed of her character thus far, I suppose.

“I…changed as much as anyone does, I suppose.” I respond, frowning.

“Did you, really?” she asks with curiosity. “I changed a lot over the years since becoming an adult, but that’s because of how self-reflective I am…but you’re kind of the same, I guess,” she shrugs. “Well, you know other people aren’t like us.”

I want to say something but I am caught up in…‘us’, and how fitting it is. She is nothing like me in many ways. But also similar enough to…I suppose, be called a friend…were she…real. The way she stands tall and challenges everything, I would have found to be…very interesting in my youth.

Now it simply exhausts and worries me.

My lips curl and I look away over the sea, “I suppose they are not.” I will allow myself this small comfort, to look to this shadow for…commiseration. “What is your point, exactly?”

“Shivanas, if he was immortal, probably wouldn’t change as much as us. Still more than most, but he’d be basically the same in a hundred years,” she says. “And his Keeper? She’d change even less. Immortality means, that if you don’t develop the ability to self analyze….eventually you have nowhere and no way to grow. You stagnate and…everything becomes very boring and tiring and you just don’t want to go on anymore.”

I feel a pang somewhere in my center at that. “I suppose…there are some ill-suited to it.”

She smirks at me with amusement dancing in her eyes, another secret joke she will not share with me. “What about you, _Hahren_? You suited to immortality?”

I laugh, “no, I daresay I am not.” I will…part soon. Regardless.

That dries my mirth.

She leans over to nudge my arm with hers.

I twitch and glance at her.

She looks at me with a more focused gaze now, “I’d hate every second of my endless existence after I’d learned to do everything I liked, but I’d stay if people needed me. It’d be agony, but I’d do it.” She smiles sadly, “would you say I should?”

My smile now is bittersweet, “there would be plenty enough to hold your attention, believe me. Everything happens…a lot.” I fumble with my words for the first time in a very…long time. “In History…only the players change. The machinations…are endless.”

She sighs, “yeah that’s what I was talking about.”


	67. Solas POV, Nik POV

We disembarked the ship, Varric and I…alone.

The Herald, Cassandra and the handful of servants and mages that the Herald insisted upon bringing…are still on board. Doing…something.

“This is their Debut in Orlais, you know,” Varric comments casually as we wait for them to appear. “I heard Schemer spent _hours_ trying to convince the Seeker of something before we left Haven. Dunno what, but apparently the Seeker was _incredibly_ reluctant.”

“It likely has something to do with magic, then,” I respond wearily.

I have not slept well the whole journey and I do _not_ look forward to the trip back if it involves the same horrendous lack of rest going as it did coming.

“She brought one of the tailors and the mage apprenticed to her, so I think it has to do with that. Schemer did say she wanted to dazzle the nobles with her newest designs, earn some coin for the Inquisition outside donations and-”

I glance at Varric beside me, frowning when I see him frozen mid-word.

So I glance up to see what he is looking at…and lose my breath.

“Guys, you have to change too!” Nik calls out to us as she leaves the ship, walking on land with her servants and mages flanking her like lady’s maids.

Cassandra draws the eye immediately, because she is tallest, and…looks a bit nervous.

I don’t believe I have ever seen Seeker Cassandra nervous.

She is wearing a dress that is more armor with a braided… not quite a skirt… than anything else. A beautifully detailed metal breastplate is buckled around her torso like a corset, though it is…hinged in many panels around the waist? The designs on it are something like crossed swords surrounded by flames with the Inquisition Symbol over her breast, in the center, to draw the eye.

The breastplate itself is made from Obsidian or Onyx…it crackles with energy, the designs and details inlaid in Iron and…some sort of red stone that is largely decorative, I think. Around the top, framing her cleavage is…black lace?

Her skirt that is not a skirt, hides nothing, she wears a pair of tight black leggings underneath. Cotton or satin or some other soft material.

Greaves and other bits of armor cover her legs and feet-- boots flat to the ground but lovingly embroidered with red and silver flames. The braids themselves that constitute the not quite a skirt, are configured short on the sides and long in the middle, between her knees. It mimics a spear’s point, or perhaps that of a sword.

Her arms clad in armor as well, with gauntlets that are forbidding and elegant at once. Metal but rounded, soft-looking. There are no enchantments worked into her armor beyond the usual for protection-- but the design itself is so foreign and eye-catching…

And my eyes turn to the Herald without my direction then, because she could not possibly be dressed more strangely than that…and she is not, really. But also…

“That is the most plain but expensive-looking dress I’ve ever seen,” Varric observes, snapping me from my reverie.

Nik smiles, her cheeks flushed with color as she glances down at herself. “Is it too much?”

It is slit in the front, revealing glimpses of her legs, clad in thin gray leggings-- more of a suit with a robe from the waist down, and a dress from the waist up. The bodice trails nearly to the floor, but it does so short in the front and long in the back…

There is a red sash tied around her waist and she is wearing black boots with small red details…in the shape…of small droplets? They are all around the hems and edges of her dress and gloves, as well. They all seem to…glow. Her dress is enchanted, as are the boots and gloves. It…glimmers, as she moves.

Her neckline is plunging, leading up into a high collar that frames the back of her head in a distinctly Tevinter fashion--

“You deliberately wish to present yourself as hailing from Tevinter?” I ask in confusion and shock.

“Oh this isn’t nearly ostentatious enough to be from Tevinter,” she flicks her wrist. “The only thing Tevinter about it is the collar and the colors. The style is my own, but I did stick within Josephine’s guidelines for…propriety.” She drawls the word ‘propriety’ as if it is a ridiculous concept.

She grins and reaches up to touch her hair, caressing a single braid.

It is braided three times on each side of her head, with some left free to flow about her shoulders, the braids tied behind her head somewhere. And at each intersection in the braids are little red stones tooled into teardrop shapes, woven in somehow. Glittering like newly spilled blood. It looks like…a diadem.

“Is it too much, do you think?” she asks more seriously, nervousness beginning to creep into her bearing. “This is…me. My style. But I have more than one way to present it. I brought a few other dresses with me in case it’s…too much. But you guys really should change. All my girls did!”

She gestures grandly at the servants and mages, now clothed entirely in black and red, black and silver and black and green. That very particular shade of green that glows.

Their garb is significantly plainer than Cassandra’s but I daresay fancier than Nik’s. They have embroidery along the skirts…and the Mage’s are more akin to robes like Nik’s…

Ah. She and her Mages are mostly combat ready in their…

“You designed me an outfit?” comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

The shock is making me careless with my words.  
   
It isn’t so much that I am bowled over by the beauty of the garments-- the clothing designed by the Ancients in Arlathan were spun from sunshine and the spaces between stars…

I am not certain _why_ I am so shocked, really. This seems just the kind of thing she would do.

* * *

Nik POV

I thought maybe he’d refuse to change, but he seemed to be kind of dazed-- and just walked back onto the ship with one of the servant girls leading him and chattering about fastens and belts and boots to choose from--

Well. I didn’t only design him one thing.

Varric isn’t really all that picky, from what I’ve observed, so I made _him_ one outfit.

But Solas…I designed two, just to be safe.

All the pieces were interchangeable so you could create three or four unique outfits from piecing together the bits of both.

The tunics are both soft and made of that treated cotton-material-- god, I can’t remember what it’s called-- but one is a deep black and the other dark green. They both have detailing in the opposite color. They’re about the same shape and design as his usual tunics, just with less…fraying.Wear and tear, whatever you want to call it. And it’s hemmed thick with designs.

…and they have turtle-necks…so maybe not actually all that similar…

The coat that goes over them is sleeveless and reversible. He could wear black or green on the outside, depending. There’s an undersuit like he usually wears, only I don’t know how he makes his, so I had to ask for advice from a billion different people-- including the Keeper and _Hahrens_ of the Dalish Clan.

Apparently Solas’s underarmor piece, whatever it’s called-- I can’t remember what the Keeper called it-- is from old murals of Ancient Elvhen warriors, or so they think. Who knows with the Ancients? It also comes in either dark green or black.

I also gave him a choice between actual boots, sturdier foot wraps and foot wraps that mimic boots. I mean, it’s just extra pieces added to the footwraps-- but you know. I figured, the more choices the better. In dark colors, he could blend into the shadows as much as he likes.

I put a couple pieces of armor on it, too. The shins, thighs, upper and lower arms…some belts around his waist that have extra barrier-strengthening enchantments in them…I don’t remember what those are called either. They’re asymmetrical, three of them springing from his left hip and draping across, the lowest of them brushing against the outside of his right thigh, near his knee.

It won’t interfere with his movement, it’s pretty and if he gets attacked on that side, the belt will put up its own barrier, which might be a surprise if he hasn’t examined the enchantments on the clothes yet.

I even included jewelry and make-up in everyone’s kits, so if anyone wanted any, they could put it on.

Well. The ear cuffs are shocking enough to nearly bowl me over. And the fact that he put _Kohl_ around his eyes-- or the Thedas equivalent, anyway-- I dunno if it’s called something different, but the fact that he’s actually _put some on…_

Basically, the jewelry and make up is only in there because I thought maybe having the option to beg off of something would soothe any irritation about having to change. Solas didn’t the seem the type to like either, while Varric is obviously a jewelry guy…

I’d have let them walk into Orlais just as they were, but if I could get them to change, then all the better. I just really like putting clothes on people that I’ve designed myself, now that I can!

Really, I should’ve remembered how much Solas likes thumbing his nose at the Aristocracy.

So when he comes out in the green turtleneck with the coat black on the outside, in the boot-like foot wraps…armor pieces and belt buckled on perfectly, looking unruffled and calm-- ear cuffs sharp, making the tips of his ears dangerous and forbidding-- I mean, if I was going to pick jewelry for him, I was gonna pick something he might like, whether he wore it or not.

I figured he’d like them even if he didn’t want to wear them.

And his eyes are lined, just barely-- but it’s enough to draw attention to his eyes.

Staring at him as he walks over, I try to remember how to breathe, but it’s difficult. I have to turn away to look at Varric as he comes out, which is a welcome distraction.

I just dressed him in a nicer version of his usual outfit. His jacket and tunic black and gold. Entire outfit black and gold, really-- but with designs more like the ones on his usual outfit than my own design. I wanted him to still look like _him_ , surfacer Dwarf and everything.

I reach up and fiddle with the little blood drop studs in my ears as I glance over at Solas again.

He’s speaking to Cassandra and looks…more energized than before. He looked so out of it this morning, I worried about him keeling over.

And while he’s still kind of pale and dark-eyed in a way that screams ‘tired’, he’s gotten a boost of energy…likely from the outfit itself. Apparently being around magical items kind of…has a coffee effect on mages.

I learned that a few days ago when I gave Dahlia an enchanted scarf and she ended up doubling her output for hair oils and paints for a few hours before going back to normal with exhaustion dragging her down.

Hopefully I didn’t just make it worse, with his not sleeping and everything.

Cassandra sounds like she’s complaining about something, and Solas grins sharply at her-- and she doesn’t even notice the change in the air around him, of course. She just smiles back very faintly and checks the fastens on her armor as he walks away.

Varric saunters over to me and tugs on his jacket lapels, “how’d you get my measurements, anyway?”

“From the girls who do the laundry,” I reply with a smirk.

He laughs, “you’d be a good Spymaster, Schemer.”

“God no, spymaster’s _assistant_ , at best,” I quip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nanowrimo and a new fic is eating my soul.
> 
> Damn you and your floppy red hair and gorgeous smile and masochistic tendencies, Julian Devorak, WHY DO I LOVE YOU??


	68. Chapter 68

“Take this to her and make sure it gets there in one piece,” I tell the Courier I’m entrusting the package to. “Here,” I drop a few extra silvers into her palm. “Just some extra incentive to keep it safe.”

She nods once and takes the package after tucking the coins away in a pouch on her belt. “I’ll have it there in two shakes of a Nug’s tail, milady.”

I grin at that idiom, “thank you.”

She looks a little surprised, but walks away without further comment.

“What was that?” Cassandra is escorting me around while I make contacts and buy and sell things.

“A gift for someone we’re meeting soon. Madame De Fer will be tickled, I think.” I sent her a dress and many accessories-- shoes and of course, an ornate Hennin. I think she’ll like she and I being the two bell-iest bells of her ball.

Well, plus Solas. I’m taking him to every Orlesian party I’ll ever have to go to. How can you not? We’ve been here for all of an afternoon and he’s already somehow different.

Aside from how he’s dressed, which is all me-- he’s acting…I dunno. I think maybe he’s just putting on a more interesting persona for Orlais?

He and Varric decided to stay in, once we got to the inn where we’d be staying. Solas is still sketching a lot, like…way more than usual, which is saying something because that sketchbook never goes far.

“Our meeting with the Clerics is extremely important,” she says.

“Yes…?” I lead with an upward tilt to my voice, giving her a sideways look.

“Are you intending to be respectful?” she asks.

“As long as they are, sure,” I respond cheekily.

She groans, “Nik. You are an interloper to our faith to them, they will not be respectful and you know it.”

“Cassandra,” I pause and lean on a wall nearby, “why do they get to disrespect me and receive respect in return?”

She struggles with that one, “because we are going in there in a position that demands suspicion to begin with. Can we not be understanding of that, at least?”

“I’m _very_ understanding, Cassandra,” I drawl. “I _understand_ they sense a threat to their power and influence. I _understand_ they are a bunch of bigots and I really don’t give a shit about their opinion because of it. And I _also_ understand that if Andraste was around nowadays? She’d be shocked, appalled, _horrified_ at the things you’ve done in her name.”

“The things _I_ have done?” she says. “What have I done but protect and serve?”

“You’re Andrastian,” I reply with tight lips. “Every time an Andrastian has done something in the name of their religion, you are responsible. Not because you did it, but because you and hundreds of others like you, could’ve stopped it and you chose not to.”

We’re glaring at each other pretty spectacularly at this point.

“I do not believe I am responsible for every demented madman who cites our faith as his reason to do something!” she exclaims.

Okay, incredible ableism aside, I’ll deal with that later-

I tilt my head at her, “you’re responsible for a lot of people doing bad things, Cassandra. Seeker of Truth, Overseer of the Templar Order.”

“You cannot keep using that against me!” she says and grips the sword at her waist for security.

“I’ll stop using that argument when it stops being true and relevant,” I reply. “And I’ll also add, Avexis.”

She stiffens and her eyes widen and then narrow, “don’t you _dare_ -”

“Where were you when they Tranquilized her? Where were you when they used her so roughly and so often that she fears coming back to hers-”

Cassandra grabs me by the shoulders and slams me into the wall behind me. “Do _not_.”

“How Andrastian of you,” I say tightly. “Do as I say or I hurt you.”

Her hands release me and she turns away, “why are you being so cruel to me today?”

“Stating facts is cruel?” I ask in a low tone as I straighten my clothes back up. And wince at the feeling of sore spots in my shoulders. Shit, she probably bruised me. “I said nothing about how good or bad your actions were, simply that your actions or lack of actions, led to others. You are the one who sees a derelict of duty as a horrible insult. So. Stop being derelict.” I heavily implied that I disapproved with my tone, of course-- but if it didn’t bother her, it wouldn’t matter.

That’s about the end of our conversation for a while as Cass broods and stews in her anger and I go through a few transactions with jewel merchants, dye merchants and set up visits to Haven for several other kinds of merchant we might need in the coming weeks or months.

The persistent throbbing in my shoulder that’s started up tells me that I may have a worse bruise than I thought, so I turn us back toward the inn before I really want to.

We walk into the foyer and Cassandra immediately splits away from me to go to her room. Which, you know, fine. I didn’t really wanna talk anymore either.

I feel bad for saying the things I did in the way I did, but not bad enough to take it back. I’m right. Allowing her to put the Chantry up on some kind of pedestal and ceding to her wishes that I indulge them is only going to set an incredibly annoying precedent.

I’m not gonna set that precedent.

I climb the stairs to the second floor after Cassandra and pause in the hallway to knock on Solas’s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nik is sometimes wrong and fucked up. So those of you who agree or disagree with her actions-- it will be entirely dependent on your own sense of morality.
> 
> If you think she's wrong, she is. If not, then she's not. It all depends how YOU see it.
> 
> So what does everyone think?


	69. Solas POV

The moment I open the door, I sense something…amiss.

“Can I get some help?” Nik asks, looking a bit paler than usual. “Magic help, preferably.”

I step back and to the side, instantly scanning her for injuries. They shouldn’t have come upon anything dangerous in the crowded marketplace, but then, assassins can get to you anywhere and cutpurses tend to favor crowds. “Are you alright?”

She flinches as she walks in and stops just inside the room, turning to gesture at me to close the door.

I do so, watching her and noticing her shoulders and back are tense.

“Cassandra and I got into an argument. She got a little too emphatic and grabbed my shoulders, and I think I’m bruised,” she says with a grimace. “I think she just wanted to make me look her in the eyes.”

“Cassandra grabbed your shoulders and bruised you?” I know the Seeker is the physical sort, but this doesn’t seem like her.

I take a step forward and lift a hand to hover over her shoulder. A cursory examination should-…

“Well, we were arguing about Andrastianism,” she replies. “That tends to…make her tense.”

I stare at her for a moment, before lifting my other hand to the fastens at her throat. “Nik.”

“What?” she asks with a little frown, reaching up to undo the fastens and turning around. “Are her fingerprints on me or something?”

How can she not feel this?

I swallow roughly, “she _only_ grabbed you?”

“She pushed me into a wall a little bit, but it wasn’t hard,” she replies. “Just sort of burns and it throbbed at first, but it doesn’t anymore.”

“Where are you on the pain scale?” I ask uncertainly.

“I dunno, in between one to three?” she says just as uncertainly. “It kind of went numb. Which is…probably bad. But I came to you, so you can’t get mad at me for not knowing that,” she adds the last bit hastily.

I inhale deeply and slowly exhale, “I am not angry with you. I am…a bit shocked.”

Her entire back is bruised, from what I can see around her undershift and breast band. Not black and blue, but it will be, if I don’t heal it. “She slammed you into a wall.”

She shifts her weight, “maybe. A little. I didn’t…feel hurt that much, so I thought she didn’t do it that hard. She forgets how strong she is, I think. And…and that not everyone is protected by armor like the soldiers and rogues she’s usually surrounded by. And…that I’m not a fighter.”

“This is unacceptable,” I lift my hands to her back and immediately begin laying down layer after layer of magic. “If this were anyone else, you would have had her bound in chains.”

“She’s too powerful for that, and she’ll feel bad enough when she eventually finds out,” she replies. “Cassandra isn’t one to hurt people just for disagreeing. She was emotional and forgot herself…I know it’s bad,” she speaks the last in a mutter. “I know this was wrong. But it happened to _me_ , and _I_ get to decide how I feel about it.”

And then she looks over her shoulder at me with a smirk curling across her lips. Her scar turns the smirk predatory and her eyes flash, “and I think Cassandra will learn more of a lesson if I’m overly accommodating as opposed to putting her on the defensive.”

“You intend to tell her she has injured you, then?” I ask.

“Nope. I just need you to heal me enough that I won’t be too badly inconvenienced, but leave me a little bit injured. She’ll notice I’m flinching and in pain soon enough,” she says and shrugs, then winces. “Cassandra needs to learn not to manhandle people, and the image of me being injured and it impacting my day-to-day will do more than my irate muttering about her keeping her hands to herself.”

My hands settle on her shoulders once I’ve pulled the magic back enough to leave her…slightly inconvenienced, as she asks. “Why not simply act injured?”

“That’s like a lie,” she says. “I don’t like to lie. This way, I’m also punishing myself for doing it this way. And yes, I know that’s self-destructive and bad and fucked up, but I’ve got no other ideas for how to make it work better.”

I’m a bit surprised she’s acknowledging that it is…not _good_. “You are aware…that this is self-destructive…and yet do it anyway. Why?” I attempt to keep any judgment from my tone, but she is now too ‘high’ on magic to care, I believe.

She sighs and flicks her wrist whimsically, “in the process of accomplishing something good, a little personal pain is…what is the word?” her head bows and I believe she must be frowning. “Not good, not expected, not…acceptable…”

“I believe you mean your pain pales in comparison, and I disagree,” I speak hesitantly, hoping I am wrong.

“I know,” she says and reaches up suddenly to pat my hand, both are still on her shoulders-- it makes me suddenly aware that I am touching bare skin. “Nothing I do is supposed to kill me, though. I factor in bruises, cuts, broken bones even…but I usually try not to die. You have to worry because the world might end. But could you worry less…”

I pull my hands slowly away from her shoulders, feeling my face and ears begin to burn. “Could I worry less?”

“No,” she shakes her head and half-turns.

I turn away, “your dress.”

She chuckles, “got things on under, s’fine. No skin.”

I huff and turn to quickly re-fasten the fastens on her dress, ignoring her discontented mumbling. “I do not think you should go about showing your underthings, either.”

“Why?” she asks, suddenly tense as I pull my hands away.

I frown at her, “because it is…”

Her eyes flatten, “improper?” it sounds like a warning.

“Dangerous,” I reply, brow furrowing. “If I were less principled, I could take advantage of you.”

“Solas,” she says primly. “D’you imagine I’d be like this with anyone but you?”

I stare evenly at her with confusion, “yes. In this state, at least.”

She rolls her eyes at me, “if I were in such a state that I couldn’t decide for myself who’s safe and who’s not, then your admonishment is completely useless anyway, isn’t it? And I’m perfectly capable of being aware of me when I’m like this. I’m just…looser.”

She does have a point. If she were so compromised to the point of being unaware of the danger, it would be useless to attempt suggesting caution. “Why so relaxed with me, then? We have barely spoken of more than magic, theories, history…we are not…quite personal enough for you to know you are safe with me.”

“Don’t have to be close to know you hate slavery,” she says succinctly. “You like freedom. Autonomy. I know that much. And there are a lot of things I think you’re hypocritical about, but I’m pretty sure Rape is as abhorrent to you as it is to me. So.” She pops a shrug and then flinches.

“I see,” I respond, uncertainly. “And you are certain that is not simply a front? It could very well be, how would you know?” I am _frustrated_ that she trusts me. Why am I so frustrated?

“I won’t, until you prove me wrong,” she replies, simply. Blinking dully at me. She is tired, I can see it in the droop of her body and the lethargy in her expressions. “That’s what I usually do. I trust until I’m proven wrong, then I don’t trust.”

“That would…invite quite a lot of betrayal, I would think,” I say.

She snorts, “d’you have any idea how many people wanna be trusted by _somebody_ , they don’t care who? They don’t know it, but they want it. And because I give it to them, they like me. So they might screw me over, but I cut down on the chances of them killing me in the process.”

And I simply stare at her then, because I had not quite expected a reason so…calculated.


	70. Varric POV, Cassandra POV

Day after tomorrow is that Salon.

Schemer says she’s taking Chuckles and her mage entourage. The Seeker wasn’t happy about that, but Schemer shot down her protests with long-winded explanations and a lot of iron-clad logic. A lot more long-winded than usual, in fact…

That’s when I started to notice her flinching. And also when I noticed that the Seeker noticed, and pretty abruptly stopped arguing.

She gestures pretty emphatically when she talks about something important or frustrating. Her shoulders kept jerking, she rolled them a time or two and winced, and it looked like the Seeker was determinedly looking away from her after a while.

“Why are you flinching so much?” I ask her after the Seeker’s left. “What happened?”

“Cassandra and I are having a spat,” she says breezily. “I’ve got it handled.”

I narrow my eyes at her and think hard about that, “the Seeker hurt you?” She threw me around a lot while she was interrogating me, but I’d think she’d be easier on Schemer. Small, fragile-looking and sweet as she is. Unbridled rage and small bits of personal defense knowledge aside…she’s tiny.

“Solas is handling my healing. I just think she needs to learn a lesson about remembering how strong she is and keeping her hands to herself,” she replies. “Don’t say anything.”

I quirk a brow at her, “you tell Chuckles that?”

She looks confused and frowns at me, “I highly doubt Solas cares. So long as I’m still functional enough to use the mark, and it’s not like a few bruises will kill me. I mean, he was grumpy about it, but I don’t think he’ll do anything.”

“So you didn’t,” I say. “And why shouldn’t I say something, here?”

“It’ll have less impact if she doesn’t just…feel bad. Someone else blaming her or making her feel bad might compound the feeling, or it might just put her on the defensive,” she replies.

We’re eating breakfast together in the small sitting room between our bedrooms and it’s funny to realize her tastes seem to mirror mine a little bit. Bacon, eggs, sausage, hearty stuff. She has a muffin or two and maybe a pancake, but she mostly sticks to meat.

Who doesn’t love meat?

“You’re a lot savvier about this stuff than most people would be comfortable with,” I observe. “Where’d you learn all this?”

She shrugs, “I watched, I studied, I read. I analyzed…”

She’s wearing a less forbidding dress today. Something in deep tones of reddish brown with crimson and fawn designs sewn into it. Same collar, plunging neckline and skirt-that-not’s-really-a-skirt, though. And her hair is done differently with…Topaz instead of little red rocks, I think? But it’s basically the same too.

I think she’s going for a specific _look_. Which means she’s hoping to either start a trend, or to stand out just enough that people think she’s fashion forward without incurring them to follow her lead. The Orlesians will either be impressed or amused.

Impressed at her mastery of their Game, or amused by the Ferelden Inquisition’s leader playacting at being more Orlesian. Either way…

“Really, don’t say anything,” she says. “I just want this to be natural so it’ll mean more. I know you could twist the knife pretty expertly, but she dislikes you personally a lot.”

I clap a hand to my chest and make a wounded noise.

She giggles.

* * *

 

Cassandra POV

It can’t have been that dire.

She cannot be truly hurt. Perhaps I simply…

I must have bruised her, at the least. My fingertips, my hands…the wall.

I did not think much of it at the time, as she seemed to be fine. Though…bruises do take time to hurt, I suppose.

My practice blade smacks into the dummy before me with enough force to put a good-sized cut into the body, though the blade is blunted.

‘ _I am out of control_ ,’ I spin and strike its other side, controlling the force of my strike to only smack the dummy with the flat of the sword. ‘ _How is it I still lack the control I desire? I have been training for so long, I should know better than_ …’

I felt so attacked. So personally…offended. That I thought myself justified in grasping her roughly and shoving her against a wall, to make her stop talking.

She had not even called me a name or implied that I was a bad person for my negligence as she saw it. She simply viewed my actions, or rather inactions, as wrong. And asked me to _act_ , instead.

But all I heard at the time was criticism, an attack of my faith.

Nik does not attack your faith. That is not…who she is. She was attacking the _Chantry_ , which I am…beginning to suspect, she views as a separate entity from Andrastianism altogether.

“Frustrated, Seeker?” Solas’s voice asks as my sword comes down on the head of the dummy with extra force. Splitting it at the seams.

I grunt and pull back my sword to try a different stance for more power behind the swing, “this is how I think.”

“And what is it you think of?” he asks curiously.

I growl and bring the blade down, at an angle. Severing the dummy’s head from its torso. Partially ripping off its right arm. “I don’t understand anything about her, and it is beginning to grate on me.”

And there is another problem. I am a Seeker of Truth, and it seems she knows more than even I do about my own Religion and the causes of…of…everything! I have done my own research into the things she has claimed and…

While I do not always find evidence to support her suppositions, I find none to disprove it either. I may even find things that support the outcome, but not the path that led to it! How am I, a Seeker of Truth, worse at seeking the truth than a common civilian scholar?

I pause in the middle of another swing, “oh…” I feel as if all breath has left my body.

“Seeker?” Solas is still there, I had almost forgotten him.

“I…I am…” I am just like all the rest of them. The Nobles she sneers at because they look down on those below them. The ones I often look at with disdain myself! The fact that I would think her ‘common’ to begin with as if it is…an insult…

“I am arrogant,” I whisper.

“That has been my experience with most Noble Humans… Andrastians most of all,” comes Solas’s reply.

I drop my sword into a resting position and turn to consider him. “You are…much like the Arbiter…in the way you think. Though you do…disagree. Quite frequently.”

He seems surprised, “you believe we think alike? In what way?”

I struggle for words that will make him understand. Common is not my first language, and while I am well-versed in it, it does not quite have the poetic morbidness of Nevarra’s many languages. “Your first thought is always, ‘who is in power and how are they using it against someone else’. Most people would wonder how they can use that power or whether they could take it for themselves, or…in my case-- how it can be neutralized through force. Her methods are…different. And you seem to understand them, usually.”

“Usually,” he responds, a curl to his mouth. His eyes are not smiling. They seem quite cold and hard, in fact.

“If my faith is truly as horrible as she says it is, then what do I do?” I throw my arms out. “How do I…believe, and not allow that to continue to…influence me? To make me…complacent?”

He tilts his head and his eyes glance over me as if assessing something. “Would you like the answer _I_ would give, or the one I believe _she_ would?”

“Both,” I decide.

He takes that pose, with his arms behind his back and smiles, eyes still cold. “She would tell you that your faith is separate from how it is practiced. That you can decide for yourself, what it means and how to honor it. That you should not let others influence you. That you should analyze everything you do and understand why you have done it.”

I nod.

His jaw tightens, “I would tell you that the Chantry is a corrupt organization that needs to die.”

I feel surprise at that. Solas has expressed interest in the Maker before. What has changed?. “Why…would you say that?”

“A faith and an organization are two different things, Seeker,” he says. “An organization needs to accumulate resources, and hoards them, eventually. There are no organizations that stay pure forever. A faith, however, can simply be something that you believe. There need not be ceremonies, and if there are, they need not be in any specific building. And if they must be held in a specific place at a specific time, there is nothing that says a special building has to be made there. They could simply congregate together in the space.”

I...suppose a Chantry is not… _essential_ for prayer. I pray outside the Chantry quite frequently, in fact. But what does it mean? The Chantry itself is useless? What does that make me?

He sighs and shifts his weight. “In truth, the only reason the Chantry exists is so that the clerics can live in luxury while other people starve and die of easily preventable causes. Nik wishes to subsume the Chantry as a charitable organization, to put all its gold to use rather than allow it to be wasted. Setting rules and standards for its use and putting power structures in place that will make it more difficult to abuse that power.”

His eyes go faraway and he smiles a bit more genuinely, then. “Her ideas are interesting, I will enjoy seeing what comes of them.”


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious talk in the end notes.

“So…they’re expecting us?” Varric asks for like the tenth time.

“Yes,” I respond and feel a smile inching across my face. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t know why you didn’t want to bring the Seeker or Chuckles for this,” he says.

We’re all dressed in nondescript clothing, wearing hoods and gloves. Very pretty, oiled leather armor for me and Varric. It’s functional if nothing else.

“Because Cassandra is a Seeker and Solas is…” I make a face and shrug. “He’d say something either pitying or judgmental.”

The Elven servants and mages behind us make noises of commiseration at that. There’s two of each with us. And they’ve all had contact with Solas-- on the boat, in Haven…they know.

“Is that who we’re supposed to be meeting?” he nods straight ahead where there is an extremely nervous-looking group of young Elves ringed around a much older man.

“Yeah, I think that’s the _Hahren_ ,” I reply.

“Why are there so many people?” he asks.

“Fear,” I respond. “They’re protecting him from me.”

Varric looks sideways at me, I can see him in my periphery. “You talked nice in the letter, right?”

“As nice as I could be without sounding incredibly soppy,” I reply. “It doesn’t matter. The Elven genocide that Celene committed wasn’t even that long ago.”

“Shit, that’s right,” he mutters. As if he forgot. Maybe he did.

The Elves behind us don’t comment, but their silence is telling enough. Funny how there are different kinds of silence that everyone just recognizes somehow.

The Elves are eyeing us warily as we approach and I smile, lifting my left hand and waving with it. “ _Aneth ara, Hahren_. **Je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance**.” I don’t know as much Orlesian as I’d like, but Leliana’s taught me all the little niceties I could retain at once.

The shock on their faces melts into suspicion and I realize they’re waiting for me to identify myself.

“I’m the Arbiter,” I say as I flick my hood back.

There’s some confusion, though the _Hahren_ looks relieved. I addressed my letter from the Arbiter of Haven, instead of the Herald of Andraste.

He walks through the throng, pausing at the outermost ring of people and greets me in return, “Arbiter. If you wish to speak, come inside.”

He gestures behind himself, toward the collection of homes all packed together.

I nod and smile, gesturing at Varric to stay, “introduce yourself around.”

He shrugs, “I’m not that popular in Orlais, I don’t think they’ll even know my name.”

I chuckle, “still.” I glance at the Elves I brought with me and they all nod. They know what they’re here for. And then I turn and follow the leader of the Alienage.

It seems his own home is the one with a whitewash over the doorway with…I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be vines or just a nice green looping design around the door, it’s so faded-- but I can tell a lot of loving detail went into it…

“Sit,” he says as we walk in. Turning to face me and sitting carefully on a very narrow bed. Straw, I think?

I walk over to sit in the only chair in the small…apartment? Would you call these apartments or houses? I’m gonna err on the side of caution. “I apologize for invading your home like this,” I say first.

He frowns and clasps his hands together, “I would not have agreed to meet you, had I not wanted to.”

I grin, “so I’m actually welcome?”

He grunts, “as welcome as any _Shem_ can be in these times.” He’s so gruff! And he seems to expect a reaction to that.

“I understand,” I shrug. “I just wanted to be sure. So!” I clap my hands and cross my legs. “About what I wanted to discuss. I am currently willing to offer you Elven Scouts and Soldiers to patrol the Alienage if you should accept.” Briala probably already has people in place. Spies and such-- but this would be an open declaration of protection from me.

Well. From the Herald of Andraste, anyway. That might mean more to the people around here.

He eyes me for a long moment, “in exchange for what? And why do you believe we would desire such a thing?” His thick Orlesian accent is pleasant to the ear. He has such a nice, deep voice.

“I figured offering Humans would be a bad idea and I don’t have as many Dwarves or Vashoth as I do Elves in my ranks at the moment,” I explain. “And there is no exchange. I’m offering you all jobs. To work for the Inquisition and have our protection. But you don’t have to answer yet.”

“What difference is it to work for you?” he asks. “We work already.”

“Ah, but do you make the same as a human would?” I ask. “As I said, don’t answer yet. I want you to speak to some Elves from Haven first. Two mages and two servants I’ve brought from home. If you would allow them to return and get acquainted with your people, you can all exhaust every line of questioning you’d like with them.”

“And if I wish to ask you?” he asks.

“Ask away,” I respond with a smile. “I just thought your people might be more comfortable talking to Elves than to me, a nebulously powerful human entity of unknown origin.”

He huffs, “I am not afraid of you.”

I grin, “that’s good.”

“First question,” he says. “What would our protectors ask from us?”

“If any of them asks you for anything, you should report them,” I respond seriously. “They are here to work, not to exploit you. If none of the others does anything about it, contact me through one of the Scouts in Val Royeax or send me a letter directly and I’ll handle it.”

“You would do such things personally?” he asks, suspicious. “Or you would send someone else?”

“Both,” I shrug. “Sometimes I’ll be too busy to do it myself, I know. So I’d send someone I trust.”

“And we are to trust them as well?” he asks.

I smile mutedly, “no. They’ll just come, do as I’ve asked and then leave. You’ll barely have any contact with any disciplinary people at all. Even if it’s me. Not if you don’t want to.”

He grunts, “let us go meet your people, then.”

I grin, “do lets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't need any reassurances. I just want to say this and address it and try to do better.
> 
> I have realized in the past couple months that my story is a white savior power fantasy.
> 
> I never intended to write it that way, I just didn't really think about it. I assumed the white savior trope could be dodged if I did several certain things different than the way I'd seen them done before, but I was wrong.
> 
> I am going to try and fix that in Rewritten, Revised but I'm probably going to fail a lot.
> 
> So what I need from you guys is to consume the content critically.
> 
> I can't stop writing because this is like therapy for me and it has been doing wonders for my mental health, but I don't wanna go on without addressing this either.
> 
> So I'm going to try very hard not to fall into the same tropes that I have done over and over again before... But it's likely I'm still gonna miss things and end up stumbling into the trope anyway.
> 
> So I just wanted to say this and tell you: My story is racist. There's probably a lot of issues with it that I don't even see that makes it a whole bunch of offensive kinds of things.
> 
> So please realize this fact and don't try to reassure me and say that I'm good or that the story's good or that it's not bad coz I know it is.
> 
> I just wanna make sure everyone knows I'm aware of this fact and I'm trying to fix it.
> 
> The French in this chap is basically just: Pleased to meet you.  
> Sort of


	72. Nik POV, Solas POV

I brought six mages to Val Royeax with me, in anticipation of the Salon.

Vivienne actually sent her invitation to us before we arrived in Orlais. She sent it to Haven and we got it right as we stepped off the docks. From a Scout who seemed puzzled as to why we were getting mail through Haven from Orlais when we were right there.

I bring all four humans with me to the Salon, leaving the Elves with Cassandra and Varric so they could go back to the Alienage later. They're still talking to the people there. Even if they don't accept my outward support, I could make friends here.

Servants always have the dishiest gossip.

And of course, I'm bringing Solas, rocking his new armor in all black with expertly done eyeliner and the earcuffs now have tiny black hoops dangling off of them with little green gemstones embedded and…

I'm trying really hard not to stare at him a lot.

Varric didn't want to come, citing disinterest in a noble pissing contest. Would've been funny to bring him along and see him realize his popularity in Orlais just that much sooner, but…

Well. I wasn't gonna _make_ him.

"Can I ask why you're different in Orlais?" I say as we walk up to Bastien's estate. Or summer home, or wherever the fuck it is…

"Am I different?" he asks, sounding whimsical. "I suppose I feel it necessary to be a certain way at certain times. What feels most appropriate in one situation will not be, in another."

"So you only make yourself small and humble in Ferelden?" I ask. "Damn. I'm gonna have to move the Inquisition to Orlais."

He chuckles, "do you prefer this version of me so much?"

"You seem less angry and afraid here," just pops out of my mouth.

And we're both staring at each other.

He clears his throat and starts walking again- and I scramble to keep up. "I suppose in a place with people who are angry and afraid, one cannot help but also be that way," he says.

"Even your speech patterns are different," I mutter to myself. "What do you think they'll think of us?"

He hums, "of your Elven Arcane Advisor, dressed as if you personally tailored him, robed in deepest black? Of you, dressed in the darkest greens melding into shadows as if your dress was dipped in the void…or perhaps the both of us together looking like their worst nightmares come to life?"

Well, my dress is eerie blackish green and we do kind of match, because of his black armor still having green details…which I did not think the…

I pause, "we're dressed like a couple, aren't we?"

He pauses with me, right before the doors and glances at me. "I hadn't thought you'd gathered that."

"I hadn't until just now," I reply. I think I'm turning red. "Why didn't you tell me?"

And then a smirk curls across his face and he says, "I was looking forward to your oblivious dodging of the innuendo."

I smack him in the arm so hard you can hear the slap from down the street, I'm sure.

* * *

 

Solas POV

I was so looking forward to true obliviousness, but she seems to deal with most questions she doesn't like with _feigned_ obliviousness that is nearly the same. So I am content to watch the Nobles attempt to trap her in conversation and fail, again and again.

"So…" one of the women begins with a smile that is altogether too crooked to be anything but cajoling. "I heard you've an interest in Elven artifacts…"

"Oh yes," Nik replies with dancing eyes and a demure smile. "Have you any?"

The Noblewoman falters, "why of course…Every noble in Orlais has something from that…" she flicks her wrist as if to wave away a disgusting notion, her nose wrinkling under her mask. I can tell by the way it moves on the bridge of her nose. Sloppy of her, really. "…that horrendous attempt at sacrilege that Halamshiral was before we reclaimed it in the Maker's name."

Hearing butchered _Elvhen_ in an Orlesian accent is perhaps the most disgusting way I've ever heard it spoken. I believe hearing it in a Tevene accent might be worse, but I have not heard that, as of yet.

"Excuse me?" Nik asks, and I worry. But she is still playing the part of the confused child. Eyes wide and expression so carefully controlled I wonder that I ever thought her incapable of this type of game. "Why would you want their things if you think they're sacrilegious?"

There is a silence around us, the Noblewoman and the people around, pretending not to eavesdrop.

"Furthermore," Nik says, tilting her head in feigned confusion. "If you think of it that way, why did Orlesians want _Halam'shiral_ to begin with?"

She always pronounces the words perfectly. Even if she doesn't know what they mean, she somehow manages to gather how it should be said. I wonder if these friends of her, this Dalish clan she's mentioned…I wonder how much they know.

The Noblewoman recovers, well enough. "Well, we weren't going to leave land that the Maker's holy touch has blessed with life in the hands of the squalid rabbits, now were we?"

There is a baited breath taken by everyone around us, waiting to hear her response.

Nik's eyes have flattened and she tilts her head at the woman in the other direction. "You think the Dales were ruled by rabbits?"

She makes it sound as if she is suggesting that she believes the Noblewoman is referring to _actual_ rabbits.

The Noblewoman frowns behind her mask, again revealed by how it moves. "No, of course not. That is what we call the Elves, dear."

As if imparting some wisdom.

Nik points to me at her side and says, "I call him 'Solas'. I don't know of any Elves that would go by 'rabbit' and even less with a disposition that would engender such a name. Solas for example, is quite capable of making demons explode. And is rather quiet, besides. Not near enough frenetic energy and relative harmlessness to make that comparison make sense."

The woman huffs and draws herself up, "it is their ears, darling."

And then Nik frowns, "but rabbit ears aren't shaped like that. Leaves from a tree are shaped more like elf ears than rabbit ears are. Whoever first made that comparison must not have seen many rabbit's ears. Or many Elves, I suppose."

The energy around us changes from anticipatory to amused. People begin to titter and less of them pretend they are not eavesdropping than before. Watching us openly.

"I…suppose," the Noblewoman replies. "Still, you must concede my point."

"Did you make a point? I must have missed it," she says innocently. "What was it, again?"

The Noblewoman smiles in that way again, same as before, "why that we couldn't possibly leave the land in the hands of the…Elves, my dear."

Nik hums, "no. I don't see why that is. After all, the Elves aren't the ones who started the Blights. I think it's us everyone should be worried about, actually."

Everyone in the room goes silent. She never fails to completely shock everyone around her. Humans are not used to other humans assuming responsibility for such things. It gets excused, swept under the rug.

And still Nik smiles, "do you know we have tests where I'm from? Just for fun, to see what personality correlates to which color or which animal?"

The abrupt change of subject- or what feels like a change of subject, shocks everyone. As we were just speaking of animals, it is an acceptable shift, but still…

The Noblewoman tilts her head and eyes Nik with renewed suspicion. "Oh?"

"Yes, would you like to know what animal you'd be?" she asks with a pretty smile.

Other Nobles begin clustering around.

The Noblewoman looks down her nose at Nik, "I suppose I would."

"Send a letter to the Inquisition and we'll have the test sent to you, then. As soon as I can get back and have them print it up for me," she says. "Anyone who wishes to get one should send a letter. Oh, and perhaps a few coins, so that we can cover the cost of the paper and labor, as well. I'd be happy to personally grade and assign each and every one of you your own personal color, animal, tree, flower and gem."

And then the room is a flurry of activity and everyone seems to forget that this discussion began with talk of rabbits and Elves- and I wonder if she will send all the tests back in true assessment and do as she has said she will-

Or if she simply plans to send back the result 'rabbit' to everyone who asks for it.

That would not be good for our position in Orlais.

Still, I think I would enjoy it.


	73. Vivienne POV

I was not expecting the Herald to be quite so skilled at taking control of a room.

And for her to do so while seeming not to hold any control at all…

The dress she sent me has enchantments laid into it. I thought perhaps it was some form of insult or snub at first. Then my servants informed me that she was wearing similar garments herself. And so I decided to don the dress, the gloves, the rings and the shoes. Adorn myself in the Hennin that resembled a dragon's crest and enter my Salon to gasps of shock and jealousy.

This was after the Herald herself had entered, and as such my gown was taken the way it was intended, I believe. Not only as a show of support from both of us to the other, but as a token of favor from the Herald to me, specifically.

I was a bit surprised to receive it, yesterday. Beyond the perceived insult, the dress itself was incredibly fine and masterfully crafted. If it were an insult or a joke, I thought it an incredibly poignant one. To call into question not only my legitimacy in the Game as a mage, but to also test my piousness with such a temptation…

But of course, the Herald is the sort to think magic can solve the world's problems. Which can be useful, if she is also sensible. Though I also heard that her Arcane Advisor was a hedge mage, and…I believe she's brought him with her.

No staff on his back, but I can sense the magic hanging about him as though he's just finished casting. Above the magic clinging to his decadent but simple clothing. And it seems they are a matched pair. But does she know what that looks like to the rest of Orlais and even more…does she use it to her advantage, as it seems she does?

Or is she truly oblivious? This is a woman I will relish learning and playing with, I believe.

And so I go to meet her, when the crowds have parted. Smiling in the most welcoming way, "ah…there you are."

Her eyes turn to me and seem to snap with energy as she beams, "I knew snowflake scales would look _divine_ on you!"

My smile turns proud and my head inclines, "I was surprised to receive the gift. It is uncommon in Orlais to send clothing such as this. If it is done, it is done to suggest the recipient has nothing suitable to wear."

The Herald laughs, "I imagine you've hundreds of ensembles perfectly _suitable_. But I wanted you to sparkle in a way no Orlesian designer would allow you. They fear the power of magic, and in that, they are obsolete." She flicks her wrist, "and now, if you wish, you will wear only the finest magical garments that my personal Tailors can provide. They are eager to meet you."

I show my surprise, carefully, "do you presume I will be visiting soon?"

She shrugs, "you want to use me, like any good Orlesian, I would assume. I'm down with that."

A laugh, practiced and yet genuine, escapes me. "'Down with that'?" I say. Wondering at the odd turn of phrase.

"Alright with it, cool with it, looking forward to it," she rambles in explanation. "Honestly, I've heard you're a pretty good alchemist. I don't have one of those, really. Well. The one I do have…prefers to blow things up."

"You would have me doing alchemy for the Inquisition?" I ask with a more brittle smile.

"Sure, why not?" she shrugs. "Solas is a part time healer and helps make potions- and I cook the meals with the servants. We have to have something to do that doesn't involve saving the world, to decompress and rest ourselves every once in a while. We've all got something."

That is…surprising. I did not believe her interests in servants and nonhumans would involve directly interacting with them quite so much. By all accounts, she behaves as entitled as any Noble, albeit in different fashion. As well as being quite pale and plump in ways that suggest she has never truly gone hungry or worked in a hard labor field...

"I will assume you know all that I could offer you already," I say with some relish. It is good to play the Game with someone so capable of twisting it on its head. If that is indeed the case. I will be so disappointed if she simply is that oblivious.

"Connections, mages, the like," she smiles. "I'm more interested in you personally, to be honest. I can imagine you will be interesting to know. And of course your mages will benefit from whatever protections or resources I can offer them once we've become big enough to return the favor of your own."

My smile now is genuine yet again, "I believe we will work well together, your Holiness."

She makes an adorably annoyed little face, "oh god, not you too."

And it is so comical, I must laugh once again. "Do you prefer another title?"

"Nik's good. If I can call you Vivienne," she says.

"Hm…" I consider it. "Perhaps Lady Vivienne."

"Would you still call me Nik?" she asks, in doubt.

I tilt my head and smile sweetly at her.

She sighs, "that's a 'no' if I ever saw one."

"I do wonder…" the elf I assume to be her Arcane Advisor speaks for the first time, directly to me. "What it is that you believe you could gain from us. We are so small and new, it is a likely possibility we would flounder and die out soon."

Ah. He is sharper than expected. And those eyes…are quite striking. Especially ringed in black. The way he stands, the tone of his voice…I wonder what instruction this man has received.

"That's kind of the whole point, isn't it?" the Herald murmurs. "She's going to help us flourish so that she may prosper from the first fruiting, as it were."

The Elven Advisor looks to his lady with some exasperation, "I wonder why she does so with you, when she is so opposed to mage freedoms. Which everyone knows you are quite vehemently supportive of."

"Does it seem I do not support freedom?" I ask. "How unfortunate."

"You support the Circles," the Herald observes. "The Circles are prisons."

"They are schools," I correct her. "And they are important to a young mage's development."

"School, yes. Circle, no. I don't think stone walls are very comforting if all you've ever seen them covered in is the blood of your fellow mages," she says. Surprisingly grave. "I'm in favor of schooling, but if your mother is learned enough to teach you, she should have that option. With some oversight, mage children need not be separated from families who would rather keep them."

"A noble sentiment, I suppose," she is a bit too cavalier with magic. "But you must acknowledge the danger of a mage not properly trained."

"I acknowledge it the same way I acknowledge a swordsman or rogue not properly trained," she replies. "Someone who doesn't know how to do something that they try to do…well, it never ends well for anyone."

So she has some sense in her head, at least. "You suggested oversight, I assume you mean Templars?"

She shakes her head. "No. I mean people who would go around, gauging everyone's skills to be certain they were receiving the proper education. I believe Templars should be a last resort, sent after Abominations and mages sacrificing people, not as jailers in a prison."

"And who will police your mages, my dear?" I ask with concern. Surely she doesn't simply leave them free to roam about…

"You police yours, do you not?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

And the point is so well done I cannot argue without looking the fool. I incline my head, "indeed I do. Though if the Templars were not derelict in their duties, they would be here now, with my blessing."

"How many abominations and blood mages have cropped up since they've been gone?" she asks.

I draw up with pride and insult, "none of mine have turned to such horrid acts, of course."

"So why do they need Templars?" she asks.

My lips draw up in a careful smile, "for the mages who are not quite so disciplined."

"And if the disciplined mages catch those mages doing those things?" her brow raises and she seems quite intent on the answer.

"Then of course we would stop them," I respond.

"Doesn't sound like you need Templars to me," she says, in satisfaction.

Tsk! Seems she cannot be reasoned with on this matter.

Her Advisor sighs, "the Herald will allow whatever restrictions you believe necessary for your mages. But she respectfully requests that any mages who wish to be governed in her way, are allowed to do so without repercussions from you, if we are to work together."

She smiles in a way that tells me she is amused by this. "Yes, that's good to mention right now. Also, did you know that each of those scales was tooled by a mage? There are so many things mages can do if given the right freedoms and motivations. Having choices can open up possibilities and creativity you could never imagine otherwise."

I incline my head once again, "I will agree to your terms…as long as the mages stay under my authority."

She hums, "if they like. But if they don't like, then no. I will force no one to do anything that they are opposed to. Consent is an incredibly important part of the Maker's laws, and my own."

I am surprised again, but do not show it this time. "The Maker's laws?" I suppose at least that means she does not seek to usurp me. But what is this? I've heard rumors, of course…

"The Maker's laws that he put in the Chant of Light. His direct words. Andraste's words, as well, though to a lesser degree. Doing something to someone without their consent or directly trampling over it is an act of violence against them and I will not allow it." She is very serious about that, it seems. Her smile is gone, replaced by an intense, unwavering gaze.

Her Advisor tilts his head and gauges my expression and body language with a single flick of his eyes. "Are you amenable to that law, Lady Vivienne?"

Raising my chin, I clasp my hands together. "I do not find it inadequate, as far as laws go."

She laughs with delight then and reaches out a hand to me. "Dance with me a little?" she asks.

I take her hand and bow my head in acquiescence. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Nik."


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S GOT INTERNET!!!!
> 
> I DOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

"I must admit to some confusion," Vivienne says.

"You don't have to, but I appreciate that you do," I respond.

She gives me a stern look, "what is it we are doing here?"

"I am curious as well," Solas's voice from behind me. We're kind of in a procession.

Me and Viv at the front, Solas and Varric behind us with Cass in the back, still kind of avoiding me, I think.

"Oh we're going to visit some new friends," Varric says jovially. "And if Schemer's offer is attractive enough, new members of the Inquisition."

Vivienne glances aside at me, "you are aware. Of course-"

"That me employing the Elves of Orlais, putting them under my protection, will broadcast my support for them in their conflicts in Orlais?" I ask.

"So you  _are_  aware," she says. "Why put your position in such jeopardy?"

"Funny thing about that is," I shrug and chuckle a bit. "People getting murdered for being different, doesn't make me feel safe and secure."

Vivienne hums, "of course."

And she's looking at the mark, and why wouldn't she? She doesn't know who I am or where I'm from. We have a lot more in common than she'd probably believe.

Our destructive potentials drilled into our brains since birth. Her a mage, me neurodivergent. People wanna lock us away or kill us, the both of our people. I guess that's probably why I've always felt a kinship to Dragon Age and their mages.

Except my people were mostly freed a while ago. And I'm not quite…severe enough? To warrant going away for my whole life. I have been hospitalized two or three or four times before, but they were short visits…

Not everyone like me is so lucky.

Vivienne understands her own oppression better than anyone. But everyone takes one look at me, the human, non-mage and assumes I must be afraid for  _myself_ , because…that's all they've ever known. And who can blame them?

So when she looks at the mark and assumes I'm covering my own ass, it's understandable. It's even savvy. It just isn't the whole truth.

We're walking to the Alienage, of course. It's like, dead ahead of us, now. And when we get close enough…

We can see the doors are closed. And likely locked.

I frown. "My people are in there, do you think they closed up because of a security-"

"Oi, are you her?" A man in incredibly poncy armor walks over from a nearby doorway. He calls behind him, "oi, it's her!"

I frown and blink in surprise when Solas and Vivienne move into defensive positions. Solas stepping in front of me, Vivienne guarding my other side.

It's then that I realize we're surrounded.

Cassandra growls and paces at the back, "what is the meaning of this!"

"That is what  _I_  would like to know," a man in much more ornate armor than the rest walks through the throng of…ah! They're Chevaliers! Ugh.

"I would be happy to answer any questions you have, I don't see the need for this," I gesture at the men surrounding us with a twirl of my wrist.

"We have not questions but demands," he responds. "Your people, your  _Elves_  have closed themselves in the Alienage and our every attempt to enter is rebuffed with magic. Recall them!"

"Why do you need to enter the Alienage?" I ask in feigned confusion.

"I have an entire graduating class who must complete their trials," he responds.

The men around us shift with anticipation, some of them fear, others still, glee. These are what Chevaliers look like, huh? How many are there…thirty? Maybe?

"Herald, I would advise caution," Vivienne speaks softly. "This man is head instructor of the Acadamie des Chevaliers in Val Royeax."

I beam at that information and step beside Solas who sends me a warning look. He's got that horribly splintered thing in his hand and I can see it cutting into his palm. God, I need to get that staff made soon. They're gathering the stuff for me back in Haven- I hope no one got too close to the Red Lyrium.

"I was hoping to speak with you, actually!" I call out to him. "It occurs to me that your graduation tradition is terribly out of date."

Everyone in my group sighs, facepalms or groans at me. Cassandra makes that disgusted noise.

"I don't believe a foreigner would know much about the Chevaliers and our ways of honor," he replies.

"I know enough to know that in the old days, fighting Elves meant that the Elves had armor, weapons and training. But now, they don't. Usually," I say. "Which means your men have no challenge, and therefore it cannot be a true test of their abilities. I would like to present you a solution to this problem."

"We have practiced that tradition for  _generations_ ," he snaps. "Remove your people or prepare for them to die with the other rabbits!"

"Ah, so you  _are_  afraid of Elves who can fight back," I say.

There is a profound silence.

"How  _dare_  you," he steps forward with his hand on his sword.

"How dare  _you_ impugn the honor of every Chevalier in Orlais by suggesting they cannot win in armed combat against an Elf with a sword and proper training!" I retort. "I offer you a contest of skill. A tournament, for your graduating class. Against my most skilled warriors, rogues and mages!" I hate that I have to use this logic.

I  _hate_  it.

"Why should I agree to such a thing!" he shouts. Still holding his sword, like a security blanket.

"To prove you are not afraid?" I ask, with a slowly raising eyebrow.

Solas is nearly snapping his staff in half with his grip on it. I can hear Varric drumming his fingers on Bianca's stock and Cassandra's shifting footsteps as she paces.

And Vivienne?

Vivienne steps out from the other side of me, leaving my back open for Varric to step in and defend and says, "well? Are you going to leave that challenge unanswered, Lord Chevalier?" With a delicate flick of her wrist and the most becoming shift of her hip. She is elegance personified, even in her cajoling.

I'm still convinced we're all about to get jumped, but at least maybe Vivienne with her high-class reputation and knowledge of the Game will make them pause before they try to kill us.

The Chevalier looks down his nose at us from inside his helmet and sneers.


	75. Solas POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double update today, and as soon as I get everything figured out...I'll probably be more regular again like I was when I had internet before.
> 
> I'm so fucking excited.

"You are shaking," I inform her. I am certain she has already noticed.

"I thought they were going to attack us," she replies. "We all could've died…I was just kind of…I wanted to control the situation and I never intended to go directly to the Chevaliers…" She is babbling. "I made it seem like I had any idea what I was doing and it  _worked_ , how did it  _work_?"

"Herald," I take her marked hand and then the other, squeezing them and wrapping a barrier around the mark, to keep it contained. "Nik, look at me."

She is pale, with wide eyes. I have never seen her afraid like this. Her fear has always been fleeting. "I thought they were going to kill us."

"I know," I reply and squeeze harder, until she seems to take notice of the pressure and flinches. "Focus on me. Here, in the moment. Look at me, and breathe."

Her eyes meet mine and there is…a jolt. Of energy, of life, of…something, that goes through the both of us. And then it is gone and she is staring at my left cheek, breathing slowly. "I…I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore, I just…I can usually prepare before things, and I couldn't…"

"You did not think anyone would have a problem with your machinations in Orlais?" I ask. Gently.

"I did, but…Orlais is…all procedure and pomp and circumstance and…they'd have to at least talk to each other and set up…some kind of confrontation-but…" she shudders and her shoulders hunch. "They didn't. This…wasn't how it's supposed to work. It's…I don't understand."

"Not everything in life makes sense," I reply in commiseration. "It should, but it doesn't."

"I know," she replies. "I just…keep forgetting."

Her expression is tired, afraid and overall…disappointed.

Her entire method for dealing with problems has been challenged. And though we were victorious now…it means nothing.

"I can't believe she actually got him to agree to that," master Tethras has been expressing disbelief with everything the Herald does, but this is especially unbelievable to him, it seems. "That guy was  _ready_  to tear into us."

"The lot of you know nothing of Chevaliers, then," Vivienne replies. "His honor was challenged. What could he do but answer it? Especially with a member of the Court present?" she says. "Did you see the way his mask twitched when I revealed myself to his eyes? He would likely have challenged the Herald to a duel without my presence to make him think twice. That was truly a risky move you made, my dear."

Nik nods, "I know. What else could I do? I had no other ideas. I was just…kind of operating on autopilot. I did what I always do."

"No wonder I have such odd and varied accounts of your person," Vivienne states with amusement. "If you tailor your approach this way, I am shocked you have not come upon someone who did not see through it before."

"I do it in a way they can't usually tell," she responds. "This time I was…too obvious. I just…I had to do something but I didn't know what to do."

"Perhaps next time, let me handle the situation," Vivienne says with a raised chin. "Or you could consult me before you move, at the least."

Nik's skin flushes pink, "I'm sorry."

She is not looking at anyone, she is saying it to the room at large, I believe.

"The instinct to think quickly and act is a good one," Vivienne continues. "But perhaps you'd benefit from some intensive study of Orlesian culture."

"Probably," Nik replies. "But I need the unbiased side of it, and I'm not likely to get that from anyone in Orlais or anywhere else. You have to be part of a culture and also critical of it to give an unbiased view."

"I would do my best to give you what you need," Vivienne leans across the small table we are sitting at in the Alienage and purses her lips. "For now…pause before you act, and look to me. If I see something that can be done, I will act, and your support will be more useful for that."

Nik nods, "okay."

She is much more placid now. Eyes blinking heavily. "You are tired," I observe.

"I still have to talk to  _Hahren_  Villien," she replies. "I can't go back to the inn until I do."

"Herald," one of the servants Nik left with the mages to persuade the Elves walks over with apprehension written into every line of their body. "I eh…don't know how to…"

"Have they refused?" Nik asks, smiling a bit.

"No not…completely…" the servant shrugs, flushing starkly. "They would prefer a more…subtle support."

"After what happened today, I guess that's to be expected," she says. Then mutters, "and only advisable."

The servant relaxes at Nik's acceptance and then bites their lip before speaking. "If I may, my lady…"

Nik looks at them, more attentive than before, head tilted and eyes focused. "Yes?"

"It may help more…to take the focus  _off_  of the Elves and…simply focus on the mages. As they…are still quite capable of defending themselves within Orlesian society," the servant says, haltingly. Uncertain.

Nik blinks and Vivienne hums. Nik turns her attention to Vivienne.

Madame de Fer purses her lips slightly, "the mages and their alliance with you is already public. Shifting focus to it can only be beneficial to my people."

Nik's shoulders slump in a relaxed sort of relief that hits you when the battle is over but the war is still to come. "Okay."

I wonder if she knows how surprised the servant is to be listened to.

Their expression at her one-word answer does not change drastically- but there is a twitch in their mouth and a droop in their shoulders that tells of something soothed. Elf or not, servants are usually expected to be silent. Seen and not heard.

She looks at me with curiosity, "was the mark doing something?"

It is then I realize I am still holding her hands and have a barrier wrapped around her left. I release her immediately, ignoring the way my embarrassment is being observed by everyone around me. "You…yes. When you are emotionally compromised…it tends to react."

She sighs, "that's going to be a problem."

Most certainly.


	76. Cassandra POV, Solas POV

"They could melt down one of those gold statues and feed the whole city," Nik bemoans as she looks upon the Chantry. "Why do religious powers always do this?" she mutters to herself.

I have not spoken to her since we had our disagreement, not truly. Discussions about our duties and where to go next, but…we have not had any time alone to debate as we did before.

And after our argument and…also my talk with Solas…

I look at the Chantry with judgmental eyes for the first time in my life.

It is gilded, gem-encrusted and as Nik says, the metals could be melted down, the gems sold…and we would likely be able to feed many a hungry beggar. Perhaps even fund the building of those shelters for people without homes that she spoke of.

"I am not certain," Solas replies to her. "It was always my impression that they built these buildings tall and gilded them to make them more visible or perhaps to reach toward the sky. Make themselves noticeable. But I asked a mother about this once…her only response was to tell me that of course the house of the Maker must be finer than any other."

"You're heavily editing that statement," Nik looks to him with amusement.

He looks back, tilting his head, "you could guess why."

She sighs and shrugs, "I know how this kind of thing happens and why they do it, but the logic is always so…ugh. Cyclical and stunted."

My lips part, as my first instinct is to…argue. Defend. But I stop, and take a breath.

The Chantry must be finer, why? Because it must be.

…I suppose that  _does_  seem a bit nonsensical…there must have been a reason before, something that perhaps we forgot…

"Greed finds ways of worming itself into even the most righteous people," Solas observes.

"Greed isn't always bad, though," Nik says. Surprisingly. "Some people are just greedy for the wrong things."

Solas chuckles, "indeed they are."

"Nik," I am behind her in our…procession.

Varric is beside me and the mages and servants have come to accompany us. She was even able to persuade Lady Vivienne to come, at the front of our group. Poised, waiting for the doors to open with perfect elegance.

If only  _I_  were so elegant.

"Sup, Cass?" she turns her head to blink at me.

She has shown no animosity and it makes my insides shrivel up into a guilt-ridden ball. "If I might…ask that you approach this with caution. The Clerics are likely to use any misstep against you."

She shrugs, "I know. But anything I do could be a misstep if represented a certain way. I've already made a dozen just inviting mages into this meeting. Who cares? As long as they're squabbling and divided, we can move freely for the most part. Vivienne and I discussed it before coming here."

"Not to worry, Seeker Cassandra," Vivienne calls over her shoulder to us, her mask affixed in place as it has been since we recruited her. "Everything has been planned and accounted for. Anything unexpected will be dealt with forthwith and with grace."

* * *

 

Solas POV

The moment the doors open, I observe something incredibly interesting.

Nik is normally a short, pale woman with soft eyes and a smiling countenance. She can often be seen scowling with irritation or tiredness, but her expression still manages to be soft, endearing.

The Herald is an upright woman with a soft flush in her cheeks and an articulate manner.

The Arbiter is a straight-backed crusader. With eyes that spit frozen lightning.

What I see now, is the Arbiter and the Herald superimposing themselves over Nik. She is pleasant and soft, but also strong and unyielding. Her shoulders raise, her back straightens and her eyes become more attentive. Her smile only in her eyes rather than plain on her lips.

The transformation is nearly instantaneous. If I had not been looking at her at the time, I would have missed it.

No one else seems to. That is usual, I believe. Nik's changes to her persona and her constant adaptations go mostly unnoticed.

I watch her furtively as we walk in. From my periphery or as my eyes glance along the length of the room, to see if her persona shifts or breaks.

After surveying the room and smiling to herself about something, there is nothing to see. She is simply…everything that she has ever been, at once.

Her steps are gliding where they are usually uncertain and somewhat stumbling.

Her gaze is focused, where before it usually drifted about, listless.

And her…her energy. Something about it is different.

My stomach clenches and roils with something close to disappointment and fear. Do I want to feel their emotions so badly I am beginning to imagine them?

"Arbiter," one of the Clerics calls out as we approach, and I shift my attention.

"Revered Mother?" Nik calls in return. "I believe? You'll have to forgive me, I'm not all that great at distinguishing rank, I'm new to this."

She is not new to this at all. She could distinguish rank before she became the Herald. She is going to play the innocent, I see. Though perhaps in context, all her words are true, to a point.

She stretches the truth to the point of almost being a lie, it is…well. Perhaps she is not so naive as I believed…

She is still young and idealistic. But naivete is not the right word for what attitude and knowledge she possesses.

"We wish to discuss your new…title," the Revered mother informs her.

"What, you mean the Herald thing?" Nik asks with a quirked brow and shift of weight. "I didn't actually do that. The people started calling me that name. I keep telling them I'm not holy or special, except for the mark- which you know. I can't deny is special in some way."

"If you denounce your title, why still do the people call you by it?" a brother nearby asks, snappishly.

Nik looks at him with an incredulous expression. "Have you  _met_  people?"

Varric huffs nearly soundlessly with amusement.

"While it is true that the people believe ardently…" the Revered Mother begins. "You must have given them reason to, to begin with. So what is it you did that they believe so magnificent as to be divine? Aside from failing in your mission to close the hole in the sky?"

"Failing in my mission?" she asks with a slowly spreading smile. "I haven't failed till I'm dead, Mother."

Indeed.


	77. Varric POV, Solas POV, Cassandra POV

Schemer's pretty on top of her game, today.

Confident, well-spoken, just 'common' enough to be charming…

You can see, as she speaks, some people are beginning to wonder- one way or the other.

And it's…clever. Actually.

Taking on this sweet-faced persona with serious ambition hiding underneath- it's something that most Orlesians could respect. But there are a few who don't see the underneath. They see the smile and the warm eyes and assume everything else is lip service.

It'll keep them divided, confused. That's what we're after, right? Even the Iron Lady looks pretty content with how this is all panning out.

After seeing her jump into a frozen lake after some kid she didn't even know…I can't doubt her determination. There's been so many times since then that she's shown it off, but that was the moment I knew.

She's just like Hawke.

 _They_  have the luxury of not knowing exactly how far she'd go.

And when I say 'luxury'…I mean that, if any of them knew how far she'd go…

It'd definitely terrify them.

"It matters not, in the end," the Revered Mother at the front of the procession raises her head and spreads her arms as the doors open behind us. "Our beloved Templars have returned home to Val Royeax! And they will protect the people from your…"

"Lord Seeker Lucius!" the Seeker is the first to turn around and she exclaims with such… _shock_  in her voice.

I was  _going_  to turn around- and then I caught sight of Schemer, who was slowly turning to look over her shoulder and the expression on her face…

Stopped me in my tracks.

Because I've seen that look before.

On quite a few people. Schemer included, a few times before…

And it's _never_ good news.

* * *

 

Solas POV

"Cassandra…" Nik murmurs and grasps the warrior's arm as she makes to move forward. "Stay here."

"What is this?" a man with lank hair, in fine armor, steps into the Chantry. "Is this what I have been called to witness? The likes of this nothing-" he gestures at Nik with a careless hand. "Begging for scraps from  _you_  nothings?"

"Smite him," Nik whispers.

I look at her, fully at that. She is…glaring at him.

Intensely. With those eyes. The ones that seem to snap with cold lightning.

They are still advancing into the Chantry. And as he comes closer…

I allow myself to unfurl- just a touch…enough to…'scent' the air.

And…there it is.

How did she know?

A malevolent aura is radiating from the demon wearing a man's face. I would not have noticed, with my soul tightly hidden away…and neither should anyone else.

I reach for her, again- and again, there is nothing there.

 _How_?

"What?" Seeker Cassandra looks at Nik with wide eyes, but Nik is not looking away from…

Envy, I believe. Some form of Avarice, at least. Envy or Greed would be the closest I could guess without touching the thing's energy with mine…

It's too toxic, I could not even if it  _wouldn't_  notice. It would poison me.

"Cassandra, Trust me and Smite it," she speaks with emphasis.

"It…" the Seeker turns to look back at the Lord Seeker as he finally reaches us. "It."

"It," I agree with a mutter.

Her hand goes to her ceremonial blade. Luckily Nik had something lightweight but functional forged for her. She does not have a shield. That will trip her up.

"And just what has the 'Herald' to offer for your scraps to begin with?" the demon speaks grandly and gestures emphatically, making a grand show of itself.

It is something power-hungry, that much is certain. With my soul tucked carefully inside myself once more, I'm surprised to see Nik grasping Cassandra's wrist again.

They share a glance and Cassandra inclines her head, fractionally.

She will wait for a signal.

It seems Nik has an idea.

* * *

 

Cassandra POV

Nik and Solas both seem to be in agreement that the Lord Seeker is not, in fact, the Lord Seeker.

I feel I owe it to her to listen. I have not in the past and look at what she has accomplished  _without_  my trust in her word.

So I rest my hand on my ceremonial sword. And wait. For a signal or gesture that the Herald will give.

Why not now, though? What has she to say? What could she gain from this pause?

"Delrin Barris, isn't it?" she calls out, completely ignoring the Lord Seek- demon.

Rage is painted across his- its, face.

"I…yes, my lady?" an upright posture and respectful salute.

"You and a lot of the other Templars are uncertain about what the Lord Seeker has asked you to do. You're confused about your duty and what you should be doing," she says. "And it's for a good reason. Help us, and your people will be pardoned and protected."

"What is this  _shite_?" the demon growls and turns its back on the Herald. "Men! Fall-"

Nik nods to me and I unsheathe my sword in one fluid movement, aiming for the Lord Seeker.

"The Maker compels you to reveal yourself, Demon!" the smite rushes from my body and across my pointing sword, out into the air- across the distance between us.

And I  _feel_  the way it impacts the demon's hide. I was hesitant to believe, even though I decided to- so having the confirmation is…comforting.

Until I realize half of the Templars are turning their blades on us and the demon is beginning to shift painfully back into its true form.

"DEMON!" the Clerics scream.

"Templars! To me!" I shout and raise my sword when half of the Templars in the hall hesitate to move, backing away from their once-leader with fear and disgust in their eyes. "We will defeat this demon together!"

"Seeker, it's done shifting!" Varric calls out as he fires a barrage of arrows at the fiend. "Schemer, what do we do here!?"

Nik responds, gravely and with weight behind her words, "all Templars with us are now under my protection- all against us will die today. Get the archers first! Focus on keeping it immobile, Varric! Hit it with more smites when you can, Cassandra!"

It is still too early for me to use another smite, so I shift into a defensive stance and go after one of the Templars advancing on Varric from the side.

It is entirely too easy to trip him, rip his shield from his arm and then use it to batter him insensate before I cut off his head.

"Oi, you going to help?" I turn my head for a mere moment, and then away when I see Nik staring up at the ceiling.

I assume it is her odd way of calling out to her God.

Until an uneven laugh echoes in the Chantry and a hail of arrows rains down upon our enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think I'm starting to get back into the groove of things.


	78. Chapter 78

Sera was hiding in the rafters, because why not.

After she sprang into action, running across beams and firing arrows, I was tugged behind a marble column by Solas who threw a barrier up around us and…then just kinda stood there with me, looking a little anxious.

His expressions are so much easier to read when you stop looking at his face and just look at his shoulders, his back and around his eyes. Even when he's guarding his mouth and brows- the other parts of his expressions, he doesn't seem to realize he needs to guard the other bits.

"Solas?" I don't think he's even hearing me, it really looks like he's lost in his own head. Making plans, like I do? Rehearsing them in your head? I probably shouldn't say anything to him, then. At least not until he starts moving.

It's always unpleasant to be jarred out of your own head.

Leaning around the column and peering through the barrier, I watch as Varric aims for the Templars and Sera seems to be focused on Envy, because…of course she is.

Cassandra is running right at the thing with Barris and a bare handful of Templars who aren't infected with Red Lyrium- or so I suspect- and they're just  _amazing_.

Cass and Barris take turns hammering at the thing and covering for the other with a shield and blocking blows from spindly arms tipped with claws with their swords-

It's just  _so_  badass.

"RRRAHHHHGGGHH!" Envy shrieks and roars and growls at once. "I WILL  _HAVE_ YOUR  **FACE**!" While looking around, supposedly for me-- as the others attack it, getting its attention again.

"Kinda pointless now," I mutter. "If they find my dead body and see you standing next to it, they're not gonna believe it's really me, even if it is."

Solas huffs in a way that I think was supposed to be a laugh but he doesn't look amused. Breathless and kind of shaky.

"Are you okay?" I reach out to grasp his arm before I remember he's not really a touch-er and pull back.

He turns his head as I'm doing so and his eyes go right to my hand while his brow furrows. "We are inside a Chantry. This is… _worse_  than being pinned down in a corner."

"Well yeah, but we just have make sure we're the pinn _ers_  and not the pinn- _ees_." I huff, "that didn't come out as eloquently as I'd wanted it to."

"Surround them!" some Templars are converging on the marble column that Solas and I are standing behind.

I pull back around the edge as they fire from their crossbows and Solas makes a noise in his throat that I've never heard before. Growly, low, spine-tingling… _focus_.

"There are too many of them," he says. "I can't hold a barrier against-"

"Ice, fire, and lightning." I say.

He turns his head to look at me. "Beg pardon?"

"Coat the floor under them in ice, melt it into water with fire, then hit the water with lightning," I say.

His eyes narrow and he glances out among them with his brow furrowed. But not in confusion, which is strange. "Why?"

"Just do it, if you don't want us to die," I say with a cheeky grin which makes him glare at me.

But…he does.

Which surprises me, because I was totally expecting him to grab me and like, drag me off into a dark corner to hide or something.

I'm stuck in place, watching him walk sideways out of the alcove, staff grasped in his hand, eyes on the enemy…and he leaves the protective bubble of the barrier and shrinks it down around me.

"Solas-" I'm a little less confident in my plan now, like- they're probably all insulated, this might not work, it-

And then he swings his staff, almost carelessly, in an arc, the top pointed toward the floor. It swings from one hip, around to the other, ice sprouting and spreading across the floor in spikes and flurries of snow.

The Templars carelessly tromp over it in their metal boots, laughing, "going to have to try harder than that, mage!" one of them is particularly amused, apparently.

That particular piece of shit is about to get electrocuted, hopefully.

Another arc, in the opposite direction, with a swing of his staff sends flames out- just enough to melt the ice and cause it to spread out in a bigger puddle of water and they're almost close enough to swing a sword at him.

I'm stuck to the column, watching with wide eyes because I  _know_ , if I try to step out and draw attention or something, he will  _hate_  me forever…

And that's when I realize the puddle is moving toward him at a very slow rate and- and then he flips his staff over and plants the blade in the floor. And at the moment the puddle reaches the blade stuck into the floor, they're close enough to draw their swords back in preparation for a swing at him.

He lights up in pale blue-gray light and suddenly- everyone else does, too.

The Templars are stuck in place, their faces and bodies unable to move. Shivering and shuddering in place as flickers of electricity slither over their bodies here and there in flashes of movement. It doesn't really make any noise, which feels so  _wrong_.

By the time it's over, I feel like I've been watching a lot longer than I actually have. It wasn't minutes, it was more like seconds, but it feels like time stopped for a while so when the Templars all drop and twitch on the ground…I'm still just standing there with wide eyes.

And then Solas and I catch eyes and I can see he isn't really surprised…but he looks suspicious for a moment before his expression goes blank and back into that…mask he wears during a fight.

I didn't realize it was because one of the Templars had come up behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've moved to a new Tumblr Blog.
> 
> UnrealRomance is my name on there.


	79. Solas POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys! You can thank Mayamelissa for reminding me to finish this chapter today!

I was surprised to learn that Nik has knowledge of things that have been lost for…a very long time.

We were…more advanced, my people. Everyone has forgotten or twisted the legends of our advances in favor of their…'savage elf' lies.

We discovered the many ways magic intertwines, the different types and how they react to each other…many different schools of magic that no longer even exist outside Tevinter…and it has largely not been rediscovered or shared with those in the south.

So…how?

The way she is, the things she knows, it can't be possible- I have already considered and discarded that she is Ancient or a Spirit walking in flesh many  _many_  times. There are too many things she does not know that she should, and too many things she  _does_  know that she  _should not_.

And her body is empty of a soul- a piece of themselves that a spirit would not know how to hide.

I was not paying close enough attention, thinking all of this over-

And now there is a Templar swinging his blade at her from behind.

Too quickly for me to stop him, even if I were to use fade-step or push myself beyond the usual limits I set to seem underpowered.

Just as quickly, he is felled. By a single arrow, through the top of his head, straight down.

An uneven laugh from above as Nik whips around to watch the body fall. Her head cranes up, as does mine.

There is a blonde elf, clad in rags patched together one too many times. It resembles armor…but it is far too ragged to offer any real protection, I think.

"Alright there, glowy?" they call down to her.

Nik smiles, "are you going to come down here or do I have to keep staring at the ceiling and shouting to talk to you?"

"We 'ave an appointment!" the elf replies. "Later though!"

And then they throw a smoke grenade and their path out of a window nearby is obscured to everyone in the room, save for me.

They move through the Fade more than anyone else I have seen. It is as if they are always half a part of it. I need to know more.

"That wasn't my fault," Nik is looking at me when I turn my attention to her. "So you can't be mad at me."

Amusing the way she seems to be waiting for censure. "I suppose not," I reply easily. "You  _are_ running drills when we get back to Haven, though. They never should have been able to sneak up on you."

She sighs loudly and pouts.

If she truly didn't want to, I expect she would be putting her foot down. I wonder why she allows me to tell her what to do when she seems to detest it from anyone else. I will ask when we are no longer in imminent danger.

Seeker Cassandra has harried the Envy demon into a corner and is quite ably distracting it and keeping its focus on her while Varric continues to shoot it.

It is a veritable pincushion. Arrows are sticking out if it in every direction, only a small fraction of them crossbow bolts. The archer seems to have done quite a bit of damage before disappearing, then.

Madame Vivienne has taken to defending the Clerics with a barrier. Which puts her in a very favorable light, I am sure. She fires off a volley of ice whenever she feels it safe to do so, but stays where she is.

"Do you think I could…do the thing again?" Nik is staring at Envy when I glance at her beside me. "Like I did for Excitement?"

"I believe it would be too dangerous. It is…a powerful demon," I reply. "And regardless…it is not confused and afraid, as Excitement was. It is simply Envy."

"Envy doesn't have to be bad, if you don't let it effect other people's lives- it can drive you to get things that they have, for yourself," she says.

Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, after hearing her opinion on Greed...I am.

"This Envy does not seem concerned with others' well-being," I sigh and check the barrier I have over her.

It would have kept her alive from that blow, but it would have severely injured her. There is no telling how it could have gone wrong and killed her anyway- so fragile, mortals. The slightest pinch in the wrong places could kill them.

"I know, that's why I hate it," she says, tilting her head. "That kind of Envy tears families apart and ends friendships…but I'd give it a chance if it was sorry."

And then she is too busy frowning at her palm to notice the way I am staring at her.

I try to look away, but my mind is whirling in too many directions to care where my eyes are pointed or what expression I have on my face.

I can only thank Mythal that she is…occupied.

And that interrupts the rhythm of my thoughts. "What is it?"

She glances up at me, thankfully  _after_  my face has settled back into impassivity and concern. "I…I think it's talking to me."

The world feels as though it's falling out beneath me, but I keep my feet, though I tremble. "It…speaks to you?" It is  _not_  supposed to do that. "Are you certain it is not Envy?"

The demon is being killed by Cassandra and the Templars as we speak, so it is unlikely, though it could be calling out in its death throes…

"It's not speaking, not really," she frowns at it again. Falling silent as she listens.

I can hear nothing.

Which means it is not a sound at all.

"Hey, she alright?" Varric walks over with an exhausted slump to his shoulders. "What's-"

"It's like someone speaking softly against your throat," she speaks as though in a trance. "The words aren't really there, but you can feel the shape of them…" Blinking, she notices Varric standing there staring at her. "What? The Mark is magic, magic sometimes does weird stuff."

The fact that she is not alarmed at all is both completely in character and incredibly upsetting. What else has she simply brushed off?

"Alright, I'm writing whatever that was, down," Varric pulls his journal out of his inner breast pocket. "Cause whatever that was, it gave me shivers."

I believe that had more to do with her vacant expression and soft voice, so unlike her usual tone of speaking- but I say nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UnrealRomance@yahoo.com is my new email so if you guys want to send me reviews because you're self-conscious about making it public, feel free to do so!
> 
> Also I am working on that gamebook otome-type project? I'm almost halfway done with the prologue...
> 
> If you don't know what I'm talking about, go here: https://aetherialidentity.tumblr.com/  
> Where I've posted a few things about it.
> 
> You guys know how dream daddy is a game geared toward gay men with families? Well in mine, the MC, you, will be nonbinary and go by they/them pronouns. I'm focused on doing one path at a time so I can give it my full attention and not lag on quality.
> 
> It's part of the reason I've not been updating as much, too. New projects kind of consume me. And as I'm already kind of lagging in creativity-- the new project is helping to buoy me up.
> 
> If you want to support me and my project, just head on over.


	80. Vivienne POV

"Well that was an ordeal," the Herald utters with amusement.

She is addressing the room at large, I believe- though she is staring rather intently at the shards the demon has broken into upon its death.

Her nonchalance is both impressive and curious. When has she experienced something like this before? If she has not...what has she experienced that was worse?

They are slowly disappearing into the air, as she approaches them, the shards. "But at least it's…over now, right?"

She stops to turn at the last moment and address the Templar standing beside Seeker Cassandra. "Messere Barris, I will assume you are now the highest ranking Templar here, yes?"

He clears his throat and bows his head in a quick acquiescence.

"I've read reports about you, and I am impressed," the Herald praises. "Even moreso with your quick actions here today. And as you no longer serve  _this_  Chantry, due to the Lord Seeker's meddling…will you now re-pledge yourself to it, or join the Inquisition?"

There is a ripple of surprise, in both Barris and the Herald's companions. I find myself completely unsurprised at all.

I am still pampering the clerics, the poor, weak things. Hiding behind furniture and needing to be coaxed, but that does not mean I cannot still hear them and see them when I make a pass around the dais.

"It was my understanding that you would take us in, milady," he says.

"I will, if that's what you want. But you need to want it," she replies. "I don't want conscripts, I want willing soldiers."

It is telling how Barris straightens and how perfect his salute is, then. "We are not…all here. But all who would break from the false Lord Seeker will likely agree to join with you, milady."

"Even if it means no more Lyrium?" she asks.

There is a murmur from the Templars and unease in the air.

"Milady?" Barris asks for clarification with his tone.

"I've devised a way to wean Templars off of Lyrium with less risk of the usual symptoms. Less risk of death," she explains, to my great surprise.

I was under the impression that the Herald  _hated_  Templars. Most curious.

"Lyrium is a leash the Chantry used to control you with," she goes on to say. "I don't want to control you. I want you to work for me because you believe in my cause. There'll be an adjustment period before you can go into the field after we've started treatments, to help keep your stress levels down. After that, you'll be full members of the Inquisition, sent on missions the same as all the other soldiers."

"Who's going to fight the rogue mages?" one of the Templars asks, and then shrinks as everyone's attention turns to him.

"We're not going to fight them," the Herald replies. "This war will end without mass murder. If they attack, we'll defend ourselves, but I'm not sending you out to slaughter them. If you're not alright with that, you'd best stay here in the Chantry with the mothers."

The Clerics are still too shaken to participate in this discussion. The few that have gathered themselves enough to pay attention are rapt, but they do not speak.

"Milady, I am…confused," Barris gestures at the remains of the demon which still sparkle as they disappear.

It was a very powerful demon.

"Yes?" a tilt of the head and a blink of her very large eyes. Is her innocence calculated or genuine?

I can never tell. Because, quite differently from most, she does not  _always_  put on an act. Half of the time, this is simply who she is. Which makes it more difficult to pick out the pieces that do not belong.

It makes me want to smile, razor-sharp and sure. I knew she would be...fun.

"We defeated the demon only with our abilities," he says. "Without them, it may have killed many of us and taken much longer to put down."

The Herald smiles, "Cassandra, do you take Lyrium?"

The Seeker startles from where she was previously tending to her blade. "Herald?"

"Do you take Lyrium?" she repeats with raised brows and an amused air.

Cassandra frowns, "Seekers do not need Lyrium."

"See there? Same sorts of skills, but no Lyrium," she gestures at Seeker Cassandra. "Once we've got the rest of the Seekers- figure out what happened to the Lord Seeker and all, we'll have a way to train those skills in others without the need for you to regularly ingest poison."

She has carefully phrased or it is simply her true belief- either way, it sways many in the room toward her side of the argument. Those that disagree feel uncomfortable speaking up in favor of... 'poison'. Hm.

Barris is thoughtful. "So you mean to say…if we are…suitable. We may still do our duty as Seekers of Truth in the future?"

She looks to the Seeker for an answer rather than giving one herself.

Cassandra clears her throat, "that will depend on who is made Lord or Lady Seeker and if the original Lord Seeker is…still alive." Her gauntlet clenches around the sword in her hands as she runs the cloth over it again. "If you are willing to undergo the trials and training- it would be possible, yes."

The Seeker puts her sword away in its sheathe once it is free of Demonic viscera and stands straight to address them. "Serve the Maker as you have always pledged to do, and be set free from servitude to the Chantry."

The Herald is beaming at her, though her Elven and Dwarven advisors both look as though they've been smacked. Shock ripples through the congregation as well.

"Now just a moment!" One of the mothers regains herself and stands, shakily to address the Seeker. "How dare you presume to denounce the Chantry in Service of the Maker!"

Indeed, this explanation shall be interesting. From what I've gleaned, the Seeker is quite devout.

"The Chantry was not built by the Maker," the Seeker replies and turns to stare up at the Mother with solid resolution in her eyes. "It was not even built by  _Andraste_!"

"Yes!" the Herald is hissing under her breath but everyone can hear her.

Seeker Cassandra throws her a tired look over her shoulder. "Do not say 'I told you so'."

"Wouldn't dream of it!" the Herald replies with no sarcasm whatsoever.


	81. Nik POV, Cassandra POV

I don't get a whole lot of warning before the almost-whispers have had it with me ignoring them- and yank my arm around.

I didn't know the mark did that, and for the entire duration of my stumbling run toward the shards of Envy, I'm terrified- I don't know what's happening, why it's happening-

And then I plant my feet and pull  _back_ \- and immediately the yanking stops.

"Herald?" Cassandra is right behind me, her hands covering my shoulders and her voice concerned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," I mutter. "But the mark wants me to walk over to the Envy shards, so…just stay here, okay?"

"The mark  _wants_?" she asks, breathless as I pull out of her grip.

I think she's just too flabbergasted by that revelation to stop me, or she would.

Vivienne began walking over to us as soon as everything was settled with the Templars, but now she trots after me. Not hurried, but catching up- heels making a divine little click that manages somehow not to be grating on the ears.

How long did she practice running and trotting in those shoes? I need to learn that, I think.

"Herald, what is it?" she asks while striding next to me as we approach Envy.

"Don't know yet. Might be safer to put up a barrier and stand back." I advise.

To my great shock, she actually does.

I'm too used to Solas and Cassandra being overprotective, I expect it from everyone now.

Oh. Speaking of Solas, where-

I turn my head and yelp, jolting forward and half-turning to stare at Solas with wide eyes.

He was behind me that whole fucking time!

His brow quirks and a corner of his mouth tips up, but he says nothing.

"Fucking ninja elves," I mutter to myself as I turn back the way I was going and close the last few feet between me and the first of Envy's shards.

And then the arm yank happens again, but I half-expected it this time and I'm able to stop it.

' _It wants the shards of Envy?_ ' What could it do with those?

"I see," Solas picks up my marked hand and examines it. "It is reaching out for the shards as they are pieces of the Fade. The mark is meant to put them back where they belong…it is only attempting to carry out its function."

He looks kind of freaked though, so I think he barely believes that.

"Okay, then…" I kneel down and hover the mark over the first shard. "What happens if we don't send them back?"

He's pursing his lips when I look up at him. "In the Fade, the shards could become something new. Here…they will just disappear."

I focus on the mark and shrug, "alright, do it."

It's immediate and unsettling, the way the mark sends out energy to wrap around each of the shards in a diaphanous cloud of green- and then sucks them back inside my left palm where the mark resides.

It's really really unsettling- that's the only word for it. It's like  _schloop!_

"Agh," I can't even help that noise. It just happens when my arm cramps up so bad I feel like it's about to fall off. "I'm okay!"

"If you have to say that, Schemer, it's probably not true." Varric is rushing over to us, probably alarmed by the half-shriek I just let loose.

"Indeed," Solas is frowning at my arm, back in his hands faster than I could even get the reassurance out... "It would seem the mark has…bruised, several very important muscles and tendons in your arm."

Healing magic still feels weird, but he's perfected the art of inspecting a wound with less than a whisper which is just- I can't even say how much of a relief it is not to be prodded in an open wound anymore and to know that I never really have to be again.

"Why did you say bruised like that?" I ask, kind of paranoid.

"Because that is the mildest term for it," he replies.

Validating my paranoia. Great.

It hurts, and now that I'm paying attention to it- my whole body hurts. I mean, it always hurts, a little- the scars and the way they healed-

It could've been a lot worse, I've been told. And I mean, I can mostly ignore it, so I guess that's true?

But now that I'm noticing it, now that it's in the forefront of my mind-

I can't move.

"I-" I can't speak.

I'm kind of collapsing, and I'm…I'm so  _tired_.

"The poor thing is exhausted. We'll bring her back to the Ghislain Estate- Clerics, you're all welcome to join us, if this must continue. And I'm certain it must."

Vivienne's voice is so…soothing…

* * *

 

Cassandra POV

Solas has assured us that Nik is fine. Only recovering.

He nearly started a fight with Madame De Fer when she attempted to examine the Herald. Knowing her sensitivity to magic, I agreed that perhaps that should wait for when she is awake.

Madame De Fer was not pleased, but acquiesced and began schmoozing the Clerics. That is what Nik calls it, isn't it? 'Schmoozing'? Or am I remembering wrong? It sounds so odd, to say aloud and to think.

We will still need as much support as possible, otherwise I would abandon this endeavor completely.

It took me so long to see the…the  _heresy_  in everything the Chantry is.

The Maker calls for compassion and kindness to even the least of his children and the Chantry accumulates wealth it could be using to better their lives, wages war on them and…and will not even allow most of them inside the most sacred place of gathering for the Andrastian faith.

The Maker and Andraste call for redemption but we execute anyone not high-born enough to pay a fine.

Thieves? Executed. No attempts to redeem them at all.

Nik has plans for this. For many things.

As we have debated, I've found myself comparing these plans to the Maker's Law…and they all fit.

And if Nik's way fits and the Chantry's doesn't…that means either my understanding is wrong, or the Chantry is wrong.

It was… _so_  difficult, to admit the Chantry was wrong. But once I did…I felt…free.

I felt  _righteous_.

"Hey Seeker," Varric has left the Herald's room for the first time all day to speak to me. I suppose I should feel honored.

I glare at him, waiting for whatever taunt or quip he has to level at me.

"So that was…that was big, back there," he says with surprising care. "It's always…kind of messed up when you realize the world's a bigger bucket of shit than you thought it was. How…how you holdin' up?"

The honest concern shocks me. I will not lie- it also warms me toward Varric…a small amount. "Are you Andrastian, Varric?"

"Ah…well, kinda?" he says. "I'm more of the type who believes that it  _could_  be true, but I'm not gonna put all my eggs in that basket. I mean…what happened with Herald? That's some…evidence of something more, I think. Whether it's the Maker or some other thing, I don't know. I'll never know. But it's…possible?"

I sigh and lean back into the wall behind me.

I have been standing guard outside her door since we got here, protecting her from- I do not know what. Everything?

"It is as though Andraste and the Maker sent her here to us because we had failed them in our feeble attempts to follow their example…but why?" I gesture helplessly with my hands and stare down at the fashionable gauntlets she'd had made for me. "Why try again? Why not simply leave us to our… _why_?"

"Chant of light  _does_  say that Andraste loves all the people of Thedas, right? So maybe she just couldn't let go." Varric crosses his arms and shifts in place. "Mothers are like that. Or so I've heard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, in my truest opinion, the arc they always should've taken Cassandra on.
> 
> She is faithful and righteous, but also a rebel, just a teeny tiny amount. Enough to do what's right even when every instinct screams at her to stop.
> 
> I've always tried to make the POV chapters even and it's kind of fucked with the length, making them overall shorter than they need to be, so I'm gonna just...go with the flow and the rest will be like this.


	82. Chapter 82

"Psst."

I stop writing at my desk and blink, turning my head and tilting it a bit as I listen.

Did I just hear-

" _Pssst_."

I turn all the way around and a brow just naturally goes up at the sight of Sera sitting outside my window.

It's past sundown and the only lights are in candle lamps in the street and right next to me on the desk. Her eyes glimmer in the dark but I can still make out the bow on her back.

She grins and beckons to me.

I purse my lips out a little, trying not to grin, and drop the extremely-hard-to-master quill back in its inkwell.

I've had to learn a lot of things since coming to Thedas but quills are just as irritating as I remember back in high school when we were learning to use them in art class.

"Hello?" I ask with a small smile as I approach the window. There are small twinges of pain as I move my body, but it's more akin to soreness than anything else.

I won't mention that she could've used the front door- we both know she'd either have been turned away or mistaken for a servant. And while that's a great way to infiltrate places, I don't think Sera would like that.

"You're her, right?" she asks. "You glow?"

"Yeah, that's me," I lift my left hand and flick my fingertips, the green light dancing off of them as it sparks and flickers.

She stares at my hand in fascination, "It does what they say it does?"

"It does," I reply. "Would you like to see?"

She grins, "that's why I'm here! Come on."

Then she falls backward out of the window and though my heart palpitates- I breathe through it and just walk closer to lean out the window and look for her.

She's down on the ground, gesturing at me to come down.

"I need to get dressed and grab someone but I can meet you somewhere?" I say.

Her lips slip into a pout but she nods and points toward the city. "Walk into the Market and I'll find you."

She's gone before I look back at her, which is…okay. I knew Rogues could stealth but that's a new level of Batman-esque skill.

Never thought I'd be playing the part of James Gordon.

I've been spending the last two days on bed rest because apparently whatever the mark did when it sucked up the pieces of Envy…it was taxing on my whole body. Mostly my arm, but…well. I was slapped with Fatigue so hard I could barely keep my eyes open even just this morning.

I didn't fight Solas on it, I mean- I could feel how exhausted I was- but I think that made him worry  _more_  if that's possib-

The door opens and Solas and Varric are both standing there. Wearing their usual clothes but like- haphazardly thrown on.

Solas forgot his jawbone…which is strange, he never forgets that thing.

Then it registers, as they enter, that Solas and Vivienne both put lots of runes and charms around my room and that maybe Solas put one on the window. And that he and Varric were asleep until now.

"It's fine, it was just- the archer from the Chantry." I put up both my hands and smile. "I would've started screaming and running otherwise." I almost said her name…

"Would you?" Solas asks skeptically as he leans out the window, tapping something on the outer sill.

"There's no one in here for me to protect, I'd have to go down the hall to _you_ guys for that," I grin.

Varric snickers, though sleepily. "You hear that, Chuckles?  _We're_  the damsels in distress."

"Just waiting to be rescued," Solas replies drily. "What did she want?"

"She wants to meet me in the market. I told her I had to get dressed and get-"

"We will be right outside when you are ready to go," Solas walks out of the room.

"Did he just cut me off because he assumed I'd want to go alone?" I say, perplexed. "I'm not  _that_  reckless."

"All evidence to the contrary," his voice issues from the hallway.

Varric shakes his head and walks after him. "Need something to pep me up. Wonder if I've got anymore of those potions…"

"Oh don't take a potion, I have something for that- I'll make you some when I come downstairs. You guys can wait in the dining- well. Solas will wait in the hall but  _you_  can wait in the dining room." As there is no argument from the hallway, I'm guessing I hit the nail on the head.

"Alright but I'm not gonna be much use without something to wake me up, so it'd better be pretty spectacular," he yawns.

I laugh as I close the door behind him and turn to walk over to the chest at the foot of my bed…

But then I get an idea and head for the wardrobe in the room instead.

I woke up in a guest room for nobles- then moved myself to an empty room more near the servants quarters. Meant for more…lower-tier guests.

If someone's gonna try and assassinate me, they're going to look for me  _first_  in a noble guest room- as we are public allies now and she would ensure I was given the very best in comfort. I mean, that's what she  _did_  so it's not much to assume someone else could extrapolate that.

Vivienne was actually impressed with me for figuring that out, I think. It's so hard to tell, but she sent chocolates to my room so I  _think_ that signals approval?

It'd be so much easier if the floating words declaring their approval was still active.

But it's not a game anymore and I shouldn't treat it like one. Vivienne deserves the same attention and consideration as my other allies, to figure her out and do the best I can for her. She's just…more enigmatic than the rest.

Solas, he's fucking confusing sometimes, too- but I at least have more a read on his character than I do on hers…

Sighing, I flick through the moderately-opulent dresses in the closet until I get to one that is obviously meant for working outside. In a garden or in a kitchen, as it has a crisp white apron.

I doubt it's ever gotten any use, but the option is there which is…a little strange. Vivienne must not want anyone to have cause to complain. And if anyone did complain about it's presence, she'd probably be able to brush it off as something they could use while pursuing their hobbies so they wouldn't muss their finer garments.

And who could really argue with that?

It's a light blue, almost grayish and made of…

I reach out and rub the slightly shiny, sparkling material between my fingers. So cool and slick like water…

It'll be much finer than anything Sera would be wearing but at least I'd blend more into the crowd.

I'm still working on armor for myself that I could put on when going into dangerous situations. Everything is either too bulky, not enough protection or…just not right somehow…

Well. Time to go recruit a jenny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I'm not skipping past this mission this time, you'll get to see what Sera has planned this time around.


	83. Chapter 83

"Why didn't you just wear your leather armor if you wanted to go in disguise?" Varric and Solas are both wearing the plain brown armor I had made for going incognito. Varric doesn't understand why I'm dressed like a high class maid.

"It'd be hard to explain the inner workings of my paranoid brain, but I could try if you really want to know." I say as we walk through the market together.

Solas's armor is deceptive. That of a rogue, with a specially made glaive on his back.

It'll work as a staff when push comes to shove so that's what matters…and I'm kind of excited to see if he knows how to  _use_  a glaive.

Varric's is still the same basic rogue armor and he's still got Bianca. No hiding  _her_  and what _she_  is.

They both have partial face masks, though. Covering the top half of their faces, like goggles sort of- but more elegant. Barely Orlesian-looking enough to pass. And then they both wrapped a scarf around the rest- so no one who saw them would know instantly who they are.

Me? I just had to wrap a scarf around my head like a headband and put on a little make-up and I look completely different.

One of the many reasons I don't usually put make up on is because it's heavy and distracting. The sensation is unpleasant. Even moreso with Thedas old-timey make up.

But I can deal with it. It distracts me from my body pains, at least.

"I would like to know your reasoning, as well," Solas seconds.

"Because I look rich," I say plainly. "I'm too clean, my hair and my skin are in great shape, I'm not super skinny and my speaking is…well, I  _sound_  educated." I know I did back in my world, so compared to there- here, I must sound like some high-class professorial type. "There'd be no way to hide what I am, but I can at least avoid detection on first glance. People will see that my clothes are plain-looking and probably pass their gaze right over me. But if they take a second look, it'll seem like I'm-"

"Oh, I get it!" Varric says- his voice muffled behind the scarf. "If someone attacks us, they'll think you're more important than you are because you're trying to hide, but still couldn't stand to have common cloth against your skin- so you must be some posh noble pretty high up in the chain." And then he pulls away the scarf to sip from the thermos of Coffee I made him.

Vivienne gave me a lot of things I thought to ask about- not for,  _about._ I asked if anyone had coffee, ice cream and a few other things and she arranged for me to have an entire tin of Coffee from like, Rivain- a  _gelato_  recipe from Tevinter and then she even got me some of those…sewing blueprint things? For clothes from a bunch of different places after I mused about my next inspirations for fashion.

When that woman dedicates herself to a cause or a person, she apparently goes all out. Which is endearing as fuck, really.

"Ah," Solas huffs. "I did not think you  _had_ any sense of self-preservation."

If they pass us over as a target because I look poor on first glance, that's good. If they attack us and see me up closer, they might decide to take me hostage for coin instead of straight out murdering me.

"I still don't. Hostage situation provides an opportunity for the two of you to get the drop on them while they're reluctant to kill a possible meal ticket," I reply. "But thanks for not immediately assuming I was going for the more dangerous option."

"It's never gonna be easy, traveling with you, is it, Schemer?" Varric asks as he closes the thermos and puts his scarf back in place. "Damn. This shit kicks."

"You've had some before, right?" I ask.

"Yeah but not this strong or fresh," he says. "I get mine from little start-ups."

"Oh, you support small businesses?" I ask with pleasant surprise. I shouldn't be, really. Varric is really community-conscious in-game most of the time.

"The more money flowing in all directions, the better life is for everybody," he says.

I grin, "yep."

"I disagree," Solas replies. "Money itself is unnecessary."

"Well yeah," I shrug. "But since it's the system we have, you should work  _with_  it to help people until you can change it."

"I don't know  _how_  you intend to change that," Varric says and chuckles. "But I can't wait to see you try."

"Money is just used in place of the value of things," I say. "And if everything was owned by…the government- and given to people who wanted it, then you wouldn't need money."

"The government?" Solas asks.

"Yeah you know, the bunch of people that the common folk hires to oversee their day-to-day so they can focus on their own lives." I snort at the look on his face. "Well obviously that's not what it is  _now_ …"

"What happens if you just give people stuff without money or…jobs, I'm guessing?" Varric asks.

"They'd still have jobs, they just wouldn't need them to survive. It'd be for fulfillment, enrichment. Fun, even. If you have the right one, anyway. And since you won't have to have a job to survive, you won't have to take one you hate."

"And the…government…gives the people whatever they want, whatever resources they ask for?" Solas asks. Skeptical.

"Well obviously not  _everything_. Weapons of mass destruction shouldn't be readily available…" I'm grinning by the time he glances over at me, flat-eyed. "What?"

The Mark flashes and sputters then and I hiss, clutching my heavily gloved hand to my chest. "Wh-"

A whisper. A pull.

"Detour," I mutter.

"Det- what- where are-" Varric and Solas both turn to follow me as I walk through the crowds in the direction the pull is coming from.

"Nik…" god, why does he have to use the  _voice_  on me?

"I'm just going where it's pulling me!" I retort quietly. "Obviously this is what I'm supposed to find, right? Maybe she'll be there."

"And perhaps the mark is leading you to something else," he returns. "What then? If we come upon a demon too powerful for us alone or-"

"I didn't mean to upset him."

I halt in the middle of the street with my hand pressed to the front of someone's armor. A very particular someone that I've been worrying about since we defeated Envy.

"Cole!" I grin and drop my marked hand. "I was worried you were stuck at Therinfal!"

He blinks, hard. Just once, slow and kind of…like he's been smacked in the face with cotton- you know, like everything's gone hazy.

And then his eyes sharpen and he looks down at me, tilting his head… "I've never helped just… _being_ …before. How did I do that?"

"I'm just happy to see you," I reply. "That happens when people know your face and associate you with good memories."

He nods slowly, "so remembering can be used."

"Eh, close enough," I shrug.

And then shrink a little because-

"Compassion," Solas is peering at Cole with his eyes doing that glow thing again- when I look over. "You know this spirit?"

"That's a spirit?" Varric asks. "Only ones I've known have been kinda angry and…glowed."

"Pride and Desire were demons, and Justice wasn't Justice anymore," Cole replies. "Anger of all kinds twist you, inside and out. Until you aren't you anymore- you aren't anything but the anger and what you want."

"Right…" Varric nods. "Uh…so you know this kid?"

"His name is Cole," I bite my lip and glance at Solas.

He's staring at Cole with his head tilted and his eyes are still glowing.

I'm gonna guess he's either really wary or really excited, either way- he should probably-

" _Someone's going to see him glowing and scream abomination_ ," Cole says. Echoing my thoughts.

Solas looks at me and his eyes slowly fade back to their usual state. "Apologies, I forget."

"What was that?" Varric is staring at Solas with squint-y eyes. "It was like your magic when you cast but it was only in your eyes?"

"It is…a complex explanation," Solas hedges.

"He sees magic," I say. "It's a hedge mage skill, so…"

"Right, got it," Varric nods. "I'll keep it to myself. Still, could come in handy."

Solas is staring at me when I look away from Varric and it's that old look he used to get. Calculating, pensive…

"Okay so- Cole, did you see where-" I turn and huff. "Cole!"

He's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Sera in this one, small interlude-- but you got to see another fave!


	84. Solas POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who want to check out my new interactive Novel-- I finished up a sort of prologue so you can get a feel for it and give me feedback.
> 
> You can tell me what you think on Tumblr, on here or even on livejournal!
> 
> https://unrealromance.livejournal.com/572.html
> 
> This page has a link to the prologue-- and the box that pops up is asking for your name. If you don't put one in there, the name will show up as 0 because it's a variable without a value.
> 
> I swear to god I will eventually figure out how to make it prettier, but for now, it's all story. I don't want to focus too much on other things and have the story itself suffer for it, or anything.

Well, that certainly explains much.

I am…incredibly curious to know when they met and how they came to know each other…and how it is that Cole seems so surprised that she knows him to begin with…

Everything about her is at once so simple and so complicated. How does she manage to be both at once? These shadows, these memories…they shouldn't be this complex.

I reach out once again, against my better judgment and again find nothing.  _Why_?

"Okay, so we just need to look for her…" she mutters to herself as she glances about. "She's probably somewhere out of sight, or at least-"

She pauses and looks down at her side, "hey there."

There is a small child looking at her with wide eyes. I believe they tugged on her apron.

' _Where did they come from?_ '

"Did you need something?" her tone has become soft and warm, her smile welcoming and her body language nonthreatening. It is a simple shift from how she was before, but still a bit jarring to watch.

They hold up a small piece of paper and she kneels down to take it from them. "Are you getting paid?"

The child thinks for a moment and then nods.

"Here," she plucks a silver from the pouch at her waist and gives it to them. "Why don't you go and buy yourself some kind of bag so you can carry things around? The more things you can carry the more coins you can get for taking things to people, right?"

The child cups the silver in her hands and stares at it, then turns and dashes through the market crowd.

Nik chuckles as she stands, "god, I remember that age…feels like forever ago." Her expression slowly drops. "I won't be able to do anything for them. If I try to take them home with me, I'm guessing someone would stop me."

"It's likely," Varric replies. "After all, they probably have jobs here that wouldn't want to release them."

"Where I'm from, Child Labor is illegal," she says. "That's why I only get the kids to do small jobs to feel useful. Harvesting herbs, helping to cut up the animals that Arisala hunts…everything they do is to teach them a skill, for their own benefit. If there  _was_  no benefit to them…I wouldn't ask them to do it."

At least she is practicing…some manner of restraint, I suppose. Though I had assumed that her protective urges toward children were uncontrollable. She almost punched someone for shouting at one of the orphans in Haven, once.

She only didn't because the child was there, and she didn't want to set a bad example. She explained to me later, that children need to learn restraint  _first_. So that they can decide to release their fury, rather than being controlled by it.

It seemed she was speaking from experience. And I do not disagree.

She cracks her neck and her jaw moves, as if loosening it. She must have been clenching her teeth. "Well…let's see what she has to say to us."

She opens the message and wrinkles her nose. "Usually I love puzzles, but couldn't she have someone else draw…whatever this is?" Her eyes narrow at the page. "Uh…it looks kind of like…"

I move to look over her shoulder, "a boat?"

She hums and then straightens, "the docks. Right?" And very deliberately steps away from me.

I hadn't thought proximity bothered her. I will have to keep my distance, I suppose.

She leads the way through the crowd, but keeps close enough for Varric to foil a few pickpockets who attempt to take the few coins she brought with her out of the pouch on her hip.

Eventually she simply hands him the pouch and shrugs, "I'd just give it to them…but I don't know if we'll need it before the night is over or not…"

It seems she is having all manner of revelations today.

I do not  _trust_ this.

This is not her usual behavior and while I am glad she is exercising restraint, change in a person does not happen so quickly or easily as this.

She leads us through throngs of people, pausing to ask directions from young men and women carrying baskets and wearing worn clothing. Servants, I would suppose.

They respond to her with friendliness and I realize another function of her disguise is to put them at ease. They don't seem to gather that her clothes are too fine- or if they do, I suppose they assume her employer is simply very generous or cares overly much about appearances.

How many layers to this are there? Has her behavior changed because she has slipped into another persona?

Or is she attempting to change her behavior because she has realized how unwise it is?

I rather doubt the latter. She was aware that it was unwise to begin with. That has always been obvious. She simply doesn't care.

Or didn't, until now.

"Alright, let's go," she surprises me by grasping one of my hands. It's warm...almost overwhelmingly so, and I want to pull back, but I go still instead. I am both surprised and confused.

She takes one of Varric's as well.

"Don't want to get separated here," she says as we walk through the crowd, weaving through large groups and waiting for smaller ones to pass by.

What sort of trouble is she expecting that she is behaving so cautiously?

"I just got a warning, you know," she says as we wait for a group of five to pass by.

They are moving very slowly, gossiping old men and women moving in a line toward a shop.

"From who about what?" Varric inquires, turning to look at her.

"One of the serving girls I talked to, and one of the men, too…there's apparently a lot of abductions going on around here, and they don't stick to servants…but they are their number one target, apparently." She dips her head, "Elven girls, mostly, but they've taken humans, too. And men. So I'm thinking…"

"Slavers," Varric mutters. "Wish the elf was here…he'd have a damn good day."

Nik hums, "we're incognito, so it's probable someone might try to ambush us, not knowing the people who might come looking for us. And I know you guys are strong and all…but I'd rather not risk it…"

"We're two mercenaries and a servant, to anyone looking," Varric says. "Why would they eyeball us?"

"Because I look clean and healthy and you two might be good for sale to someone on the front," she replies.

The war with Seheron is bloody and Tevinter is desperate…but I think they would rather go for easy targets.

Still, she is holding tightly to my hand. And…seems to be shaking.

Ah. That is the cause, then. She has people to protect.

Everything falls into place then. And I now know what to say the next time she puts herself in danger.

I cannot focus on the abstract. She needs someone immediate, at her fingertips.

So I will give it to her and hope it's enough to stop her, next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think about the prologue AND the chapter--
> 
> If you just wanna leave a kudos on the prologue, I'm open to those, too.
> 
> If you're not in the mood or don't think it's up your alley, that's fine. I'm just advertising.


	85. Varric POV, Nik POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than POV switching chapters usually are, so it took longer...
> 
> Also fuck the resources, I've been learning Esperanto and I'm gonna fuck around with Elvhen a little bit. If I don't translate it in-chapter then I'll put the translations at the bottom. If I forget, remind me, I will happily fix it.

Ah, shit.

"Where is she?" Chuckles is doing a real good job of looking calm while obviously panicking on the inside. I almost can't tell.

"She was here…" I look around the alley we'd slipped into and search it for anything like an alcove but I can't see anything. "Damn it, she probably got lost in the crowd."

"We were holding her  _hands_ ," chuckles flexes his free hand, the one not gripping his staff. "I didn't even notice she'd let go."

"Felt like she was still there until we got to the Alley, she can't have slipped too far, come on." I walk out of the alleyway, searching for a flash of that light grayish material she'd been wearing- but I don't see her anywhere. "Well you're taller, Chuckles. You see her?"

"No," he responds, tightly.

"She's fine," I tell him. "I know you've got that whole thing about her being in danger and all-"

"I am  _concerned_  that the last hope for Thedas may have just been snatched by slavers under our noses, yes," he snaps. "Or quietly abducted by someone who wants to use the mark, otherwise."

"But she's  _fine_ ," I repeat. "Schemer's not a fighter, but she knows enough basics to put an opponent off-guard long enough to shout or scream for help. She's a pretty good talker and happens to have a natural charm that people just gravitate towards. Whether she's got to fight or flatter, she'll be  _fine_."

"And if she's been rendered unconscious?" he says. "Knocked senseless? Broken?"

"She's not dead already," I say, firmly. "That would be wasteful, whoever we're dealing with. They'd want her alive. And she might not even be kidnapped, maybe she just got lost." I can tell he doesn't believe that's possible. Worst case scenarios only for this guy, eh? "We've just gotta look for her. Let's find that clue the Jenny left us and get her help on this. No one knows their city like a Jenny, trust me, we've…run into some before in Kirkwall. They've got ears in about every kitchen."

That seems to relax him a little. The guy doesn't do that great without some kind of plan in front of his face, I guess.

Weird thing is, I figured he could come up with one all on his own but it seems like he just froze up there for a moment. I think maybe he's a little more invested in her well-being personally than he wants to let on. You don't get this flustered about an asset going missing. You just find it.

Could be wrong. Haven't known Chuckles that long, after all. Still. Seems strange that he's so quick to deny it, when he seems pretty cavalier about caring about people in general.

The alleyway is as empty as it was when we left it- and it leads down a narrow passage, through back alleys that are so disused there are more spiderwebs than anything else. There are less  _spiders_  than spiderwebs, and that makes about as much sense as anything else in this situation…

"Haha!" a shout and a gout of flame goes roaring just past us. One more bend and we'll be seeing whatever and whoever is fighting.

I have an inkling.

We rush down the bend and pause inside a courtyard to some fancy, dilapidated old house. There's a guy throwing around fireballs, other guys with swords and bows fighting a bunch of…are those servants using crossbows in piecemeal armor?

And there's the Elven woman who sent us the clues, right in the thick of everything, jumping from box to box in these massive stacks, shooting in every direction and putting down half the attacking force just by herself.

"Nik would get involved in this fight," Chuckles deadpans. "Do we do what she would want us to do, or what is most pressing?"

"We help them, they help us," I shrug Bianca into my hands and grin up at him. "It's been a while since you and I fought without the Seeker or Schemer around, hasn't it? Let's make the most of it."

His mouth does this funny thing where I know he wants to smirk but doesn't. "I suppose it will be good for my nerves."

Speaking as the last person to see him take his nerves out on someone or something when he was frustrated - I hope these guys have extra padding in their armor.

And then I take a second look and I realize they're not wearing some essential pieces of said armor.

"Andraste's ass, they're not wearin' pants."

* * *

 

Nik POV

"Not that I don't appreciate the chance to talk to you and everything…" I accept the small cup of tea handed to me and settle it in my lap, resolved not to drink it. "But you could've just sent a message or something."

Solas is probably flipping his lid. Poor Varric.

Briala sits across from me in her own seat, with her own tea cup. She sips daintily from it before setting it down on its saucer. "I dislike making my movements known to people I do not trust."

"Understandable, but you see I have two people that were with me? The guys you took me out from under?" I put the saucer and cup on the table between us, afraid I'll drop it. "The Elven man? He gets cranky when I disappear. And the Dwarven man will probably use some kind of underworld connection to find out where I went somehow anyway."

I mean, he knows how that kind of thing works. Even if he ends up only knowing that I was taken, he'll find out  _something_.

"I am sure," she says. "I have all relevant information on your Advisors. Business Advisor, Varric Tethras…that made sense. He is a business mogul, well-known and well versed. But what interests me is why your Arcane Advisor is an Elven apostate."

I blink, "you don't already know his qualifications?" That's not right. Everyone knows he fixes the mark.

She flicks her wrist. "It is in human nature to use and toss aside the nonhuman. I am aware of what he can do, I am confused as to why you gave him stature. Power." Her eyes are very piercing. Not in the way Solas's are or even in the way Varric's can sometimes be.

She is picking me apart, bit by little bit.

"Because he's qualified and I wanted him to have credit?" I reply. "Also…he's kind of detached from people. All people. I wanted to change that." Shrugging, I explain. "He's got the potential to change the world, like most of the people in the Inner Circle. Problem is, none of them know that and even if they did, they'd have no idea how to use it."

"And you intend to show them, do you?" she asks. "I looked for you. No evidence of your existence, anywhere. Not in Thedas."

"No, there wouldn't be," I reply with a smile. "You suspect I'm some kind of bard or spy but I'm really nobody. I just come from a place…you can't really reach." Implying my entire town died worked with Cassandra but Briala might ask where. "In any case, it's unimportant. I consider all people's pasts to be unimportant unless in very specific cases. It's what you do now that matters."

No redemption for people like that guy Alrik in DA2. I draw the line at rapists, abusers and oppressors who get off on what they do.

People like Cassandra who've been taught and brainwashed and trained to uphold oppressive institutions can still learn, though. And I won't give up, not now that I'm actually seeing-

She renounced the  _Chantry_. And she didn't even have to think about it that long! I mean…a few days. To change her entire outlook on life?

"And what do you intend to do?" she asks.

"Whatever you think is best," I reply.

There's a pause and her head tilts, "whatever I think is best."

"You've lived in Orlais your whole life. You're fighting the system, you'd know better than I would." I reply. "I hate Orlais, but Orlesians. Orlesians come in all shapes and sizes, they're not just the assholes and the Nobles I have to talk to. I want to save Orlais just like I want to save Ferelden."

"From the Breach," she asserts.

"And from themselves," I add after nodding to agree with her. "Once I've given them the knowledge and the tools, my hope is they'll just…be better. And if not, it won't be my concern anymore. My job is just to get them there."

"The knowledge and the tools?" she asks, eyes narrowing on me.

"Yes. Like…where does rain come from, how do plants grow, and the fact that other races might be different, but they aren't inherently inferior." I know I'm being cheeky but I might be a little panicked.

At the thought.

Of the Dread Wolf tearing up Orlais in the quietest fashion possible.

Trying to find the mark.

"And tools like 'hey, maybe if I take a minute to breathe and manage my anger, I won't fly off the handle'," I continue. "Uh…you have people watching them, right? My guys? And we'll know if something happens?"

She brushes aside the question with barely any acknowledgement but she nods so I'm pacified, for now. "So it is your intention to fix the world. And the Mark fell right into your lap, so why not try?" She seems so very tired. "The most magical power that has been wielded in centuries, that has not been derided and feared and it is in the hands of an idealistic child."

I'm not gonna like, jump down her throat for calling me a child but it does sting and I do hate it. Because I understand her frustration.

If it had fallen into someone else's hands, like an Orlesian elf or maybe a Qunari or Dwarf- that'd be progress and she could use that. The Herald of Andraste being nonhuman would've been a huge boon.

But instead it's just me, little ole human me. And I'm asking for direction from someone else instead of taking the reins myself and proving myself competent, which is I'm sure what she would want from me.

"Idealistic is a stretch," I tell her in a calm tone. "I work to make the world a little kinder because I know there are always going to be people being cruel and that the world isn't fair. But if I have the power to  _make_  it fair, why shouldn't I use it? And why then, shouldn't I ask you, who knows far more about being an Elf in Orlais, about how to help the Elves of Orlais?"

Okay that all came out a little more vehement than I meant it to.

"I apologize for my tone but I dislike being called a  _child_ ," I tack on. "Please never do that again."

Her head tilts and the corners of her mouth tip up. "Sensitive about your age, Herald?"

"I'm twenty-five," I deadpan. "So no. I'm sensitive about my  _baby face_."

That succeeds in making her chuckle, at least. "You are a very honest woman. You are aware that is unwise in Orlais."

"I hope you can be an ally," I reply. "And I don't lie to my allies."

"A bold statement," she says. "Tell me then. Did you really embarrass yourself so spectacularly just to get my attention?"

I know instantly what she's referring to, because she isn't wrong but-

"Not really?" I flush. "I knew it was a long shot and they might say no, but I never intended to go toe-to-toe with Chevaliers and I kind of fucked up the whole 'incognito' part of going to see them in clothes that I wouldn't be immediately recognized in so they're now also in danger of people targeting them because of me…"

I trail off when she raises her hand, realizing I'd been rambling.

"But you did do it with the intention that I would take notice," she says.

"Yes." I admit with some chagrin. "I'm sorry I'm so terrible at this, I can learn quickly I swear. I just have no idea how Orlais really runs. On the bottom. I know exactly how the Nobles are  _supposed_  to act…" I sigh, "but people are always finding new ways around old rules and I should've expected that."

"You will not make that mistake again," she asserts.

I huff, "I might. If I don't realize what I'm doing. Which is why I would need you to direct me where and when you need me. While I'm learning. It doesn't have to be specifically you. You could send an Agent with me to conduct business while I'm in Orlais. Whatever is easiest for you."

She stands from her chair and puts down her tea on the tray between us and I mirror her movements. "I will think on your proposal, Herald, and we will see how things go. For now…I believe I've just gotten word on your companions."

There's a messenger at the door looking harried.

Oh god, tell me Varric and Solas haven't caused total bedlam. Tell me they didn't tell Cassandra and she's now sweeping the streets with her sword out.

I have no real basis for comparison aside from what happened that one time I wandered off and judging by the way everyone was acting when I woke up-

I don't know what they might've done looking for me but it probably isn't going to endear any of them to the Orlesians we're supposed to be rubbing elbows with.

"The Jennies seem to have picked them up and they're now scouring the city, Lady Briala," the messenger says. "What would you like us to do?"

"Call for  _Falon'si_  and have them meet me in the lower parlor." We're in a very old, abandoned place, I think. It's clean and all, but I can just tell we're not here with the original owners. I don't know how, it feels…old and stolen.

Kinda makes me smile, though. Whoever built this place was stealing the land from the Elves to begin with.

It's almost poetic.

" _Falon'si_?" I ask. "Friend-something?"

Briala looks back at me and a smile curves the bow of her lips, taut as you'd expect. "It means 'the friend who is many'." She informs me. "And they are the people I would have you deal with in Orlais if it came to such a thing. They will escort you to your people and take your measure."

A woman like her  _would_  like to get all the angles first, I'm sure. So I smile, "can't wait to meet them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say here, to explain- because I am terrible at showing Nik's thought process and how she perceives things vs how they actually are, I think?
> 
> Nik is so flummoxed by the idea that people might like her personally--like AS a person that she's assumed the only reason everyone gets frantic is because the MARK is missing. But she's also never seen them personally flipping out about her going missing so she has no idea of their behavior during this.
> 
> She just remembers the Dalish being surly toward them all and assumed the worst. Is that not hilarious?
> 
> Oh also, if you ship Nik/Cassandra, you are valid. I just wanted to say that. If anyone wants to write drabbles about them or anything feel free. Just link back to me so everyone knows where Nik came from.
> 
> I'd do it myself but Cass is...complicated-- my feelings toward her are complicated. I'm still not really super comfortable with my attraction toward women but I'm...gettin there.
> 
> Si is pronounced 'shi' by the way. In Falon'si?

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to review or Kudos!
> 
> Or review just to say 'kudos'!
> 
> I MADE PLAYLISTS: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC0eYJ4nFL1M4nKY_leVRjfQ/playlists


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